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•*“ .»• 



Within the Capes 


HOWARD PYLE 

u 



New York 

International Association of Newspapers and Authors 
1901 


viz 

U)t 





COPYRIGHT. 1885, as? 
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 


Bequest 

Albert Adsit Olemona 
Aug. 24, 1938 
(Not available for exchange) 


> Geo. M Hiil Co, 
Printers and Binders 
Chicago, III. 


TO HIS FRIEND 

ALFRED LEIGHTON HOWE 

THIS BOOK. IS DEDICATED 
BY 


THE AUTHOR 


I 




WITHIN THE CAPES. 


CHAPTER I. 

C ERTAIN members of Captain Tom Granger’s 
family have asked him, time and time again, 
why he did not sit down and write an account of 
those things which happened to him during a cer- 
tain period of his life. 

These happenings, all agree, are of a nature such 
as rarely fall to the lot of any man, ^crowding, as 
they did, one upon the heels of another, so that in 
two years’ time more happened to Tom Granger 
than happens to most men in a lifetime. 

But Captain Granger has always shaken his 
head, and has answered that he was no writer and 
that a pen never did fit nicely betwixt his stiff 
fingers, as Mrs. Granger can tell them if they will 
ask her. 

Beside this, he has hitherto had his affairs to 
look after, so that he may be able to leave behind 
him enough of the world’s goods to help his chil- 

1 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


2 

dren and his children’s children easily along the 
road that he himself found not over smooth. 

Now, however, he has given up much of his 
business to the care of his sons, who are mostly 
men well on in years, with families of their own, 
and who are discreet in the management of things. 
Therefore, having much more leisure time upon his 
hands than he has ever had in his life before, he 
will undertake to do as he has been asked, and to 
write a plain, straightforward story of his adven- 
tures. This he does with much diffidence, for, as I 
have said, he is no very good hand with the pen 
and the ink-horn. The story may be told in a 
rough way; nevertheless’, I believe that many of 
those that read it will think well of it, having a 
certain tenderness for the writer thereof 

I am furthermore inclined to thus take upon 
myself the transcribing of the history of these 
things, because that Captain Tom Granger is 
coming fast to the ending of his life ; and, though 
his latter days may be warm and sunny, like a late 
Indian summer, there are those yet to come in a 
few years who will not have the chance to hear of 
these things from his own lips. Therefore, as there 
has been much gossip about certain adventures 
that befell him, I would rather that they should 
learn of them under mine own hand than from 
hearsay. Truly, things get monstrously twisted 
in passing from mouth to mouth, and by the time 
that the story of these doings has passed down 
through three or four generations, the old gentle- 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


3 


man might be turned into a pirate and a murderer^ 
for all that I know, which would be a pretty state 
of affairs. 

I do not know how it was that Tom Granger got 
the title of captain, for the highest grade that he 
ever reached was that of second mate of the Pri- 
vateersman Nancy Plazleivood. However, as no 
one in Eastcaster ever had held so high a grade of 
the like nature up to that time, I suppose that the 
wonder really is that he was not called commodore, 
or even admiral. 

Any one in Eastcaster can tell you where he 
lives ; it is the large white house, with the porch in 
front, that stands well back from the road under the 
shadow of three broad maple trees. It is just 
across the way from the Hicksite Meeting-house. 
You can easily tell it as you go along the street, 
because there is a ship in full sail chiseled in relief 
on the stone gate-post, which is very well done 
indeed, and was carved by William Johnson, the 
stone-cutter, under mine own direction and super- 
vision. 

I will say here, that Captain Granger will be 
always glad to see you if, at any time, you should 
chance to come to Eastcaster. If he is not at 
home, you will be likely to find him playing 
chequers or backgammon at the Black Horse 
Tavern, just around the corner of Market street, 
and nearly opposite to the court-house. 

However, that is neither here nor there, and I find 
that I am wandering from the point. But you must 


4 


WITHIN THE CATES. 


excuse and overlook that, bearing in mind that it is 
the way of an old man, who has done a great deal of 
talking in his day. I thank goodness that I am old 
enough now to know better than to gossip and 
talk as much as I used to do, and am rather silent 
than otherwise. 

Nevertheless, I promise now that I will heave 
ahead with my yarn, though it may be that I will 
leave some things untold that you would like to 
hear, being, as I said, no great talker, in which case 
you must come to Eastcaster, and then I will tell 
you anything that you may want to know. 

I will not enter into a long )^arn concerning what 
happened in Tom Granger's life before the year 
1812, for though such a yarn would hold within 
it niany concerns of interest, it is not for the sake 
of relating them that I have thus taken my pen 
betwixt my fingers. It was late in the spring of 
that year (1812) when he returned home after a 
three years’ cruise to the East Indies. 

I think that there is no joy in all the world 
like that of getting home again after a long voyage, 
such as this had been. I do not know but that it 
repays one for all the sorrow and pain of leave- 
taking, and for the home-sickness that follows 
thereon. Even such changes as have happened 
betwixt the going and returning do not seem 
amiss, provided that they have not brought grief 
and trouble with them. 

The changes that had occurred since Tom’s 
departure in the summer of 1809 had brought no 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


5 


sadness with them. When he had gone away, he 
had left his sisters^ Susan and Mary, as young girls ; 
the former sixteen and the latter fifteen years old. 
They had now grown into a pair of fine young 
women and were chits no longer. This was the first 
and greatest change that struck Tom, so you may 
see how little had happened. The folks were already 
beginning to tease Susan about Will Gaines, who 
had just returned from Philadelphia, where he had 
been studying law, and had set up an ofifice for 
himself in Eastcaster. 

The next day was Sunday, or First-day, as we 
call it in Quaker neighborhoods, and as all of the 
family were going to meeting, Tom put on his 
best toggery to go with them. 

It was a beautiful, bright clear day, and as Tom 
stood on the porch waiting for Henry, who was to 
go with him, his heart swelled within him with the 
love of home. It seemed sweet to him to look on 
the young leaves of the trees, the green meadow- 
lands and the richness of growing wheat, after 
seeing nothing for months but a wide stretch of 
troubled waters ; it was good to feel the balmy 
blowing of a breeze that was not salt ; to hear the 
singing of the robin and the chattering of the wren ; 
the crowing of the cocks and the lowing of the 
cattle, and not to have in his ears the everlasting 
washing and gurgling of the water alongside. 

The folks use to ride to meeting on horseback 
in the old times, the women behind the men on 
pillion saddles. But Tom was a. sailor, and conse- 


6 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


quently no good figure on horseback, so he and 
Heniy, the youngest, set off ahead of the rest to 
foot it, for the homestead farm was only a mile and 
a half from Eastcaster meeting. 

The meeting-house looked ver>' pleasant where it 
stood, back from the street under the shadow of 
the two great elms in front of it. The old meeting- 
house was standing then, for they did not tear it 
down to make room for the new building until ’32. 
The present building is larger than the old one was, 
and is, no doubt, lighter and better, and more 
comfortable in many ways; but for all that, I have 
never liked it as well as the old black and red brick 
meeting-house, with its high roof running up to a 
point from all four corners and topped with some- 
thing that looked like a belfry, though it had no 
bell in it, of course. 

In the old days, as now, when the weather was 
warm and bright and pleasant, the men used to 
stand for a while around the door of their side of 
the meeting, talking and chatting together before 
they went into the building. Such a group was 
standing on the grass under the shadow of the elm 
trees as Tom and his brother Henry came up the 
steps that led into the meeting-house yard. 

Tom knew all of them, and they came forward 
and shook hands with him* and welcomed him 
heartily. Will Gaines v/as amongst them, for, 
though he was not a member of the Society of 
Friends, he went to meeting as often as he w'ent 
anywhere else. It might have been that he came 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 7 

on Susan’s account, though I do not say that he 
did. 

He was the first to recognize Tom, and he came 
forward and shook hands with him and seemed very 
glad to see him. A young man usually is glad to 
see the brother of the young woman that he wants 
to marry, but I think that Will really was pleased 
to see Tom, for he and Tom had been dear friends 
from the time that they were children together. 
There were other young men of Tom’s age amongst 
the group : John Black, Joseph Sparks, Henry 
Jackson and others. They too came forward and 
shook hands with him and seemed glad to see him, 
though not so glad as Will Gaines had been. 

Two men were standing by the open door of the 
meeting-house, talking earnestly together. One of 
them was Isaac Naylor, and the other was Mr. 
Edmund Moor, the real estate agent. As these 
two men had very much to do with Tom’s life at a 
later time, it may be well that I should give you a 
notion of them now. 

Isaac Naylor was a young man — not over thirty 
at that time, I should think. He dressed very 
plainly, and was so serious of deportment that I do 
not know that any one ever saw him smile. He 
never jested himself, and never enjoyed a jest, for 
he was too practical for such trivial things. It was 
as though the man of him had been dried into 
parchment by his continued self-repression. He 
was well off in the world, for his father had died 
the year before, and, as Isaac was the only son, he 


o 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


had inherited all the property, which v/as very 
large. Although such a young man, he was high 
in the meeting, sitting in the gallery with men old 
enough, in some cases, to be his grandfather. 

Mr. Moor was not a member of meeting, though 
he attended pretty regularly. He was a large, 
fleshy man, not exactly fat, but full looking. He 
had a smooth, goodly face and straight iron-grey 
hair, brushed straight back from his forehead and 
behind his ears. I never heard him say an unkind 
word or saw him in anything but a cordial mood. 
He was always full of jests and quaint turns of 
speech, and never failed to shake Tom heartily by 
the hand whenever he met him; yet for all that 
Tom did not like him. He had an oily, unctuous 
way, that was not pleasing to him ; he was always 
so goodly that he did not seem sincere, and always 
so cordial that it did not seem as though he meant 
his cordiality. 

Such were the two men that were talking 
together by the meeting-house door, and each 
w'elcomed him in his own manner. 

“ How is thee, Thomas ?” said Isaac, dryly. 

“Why! It’s Thomas Granger! Bless my^soul! 
Back again like a bad penny', eh?” said Mr. 
Moor, and he shook Tom by' the hand with great 
warmth. 

In the meantime, Tom’s father and his two 
brothers, John and William, came over from the 
horse shed, where they had been hitching their 
horses, and joined the group, and then they all 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


9 


went into the meeting-house together, taking their 
seats on the hard wooden benches within. 

That morning they held a silent meeting, no one 
speaking for all the hour between ten and eleven 
o’clock. Now and then the wind would rush in 
little puffs through the open window and across the 
gloom of the building. A fly buzzed against a 
window pane, and once a robin outside burst into a 
sudden gush of song. 

No other sound broke the silence, saving for the 
rustling of a dress, as one of the women Friends 
would move in her seat, or the restless sighing of 
some poor boy in the back part of the building. 
The overseers sat ranged along on the raised bench 
facing the meeting, and amongst them was Isaac 
Naylor. All of them sat with their hats on, 
motionless, with downcast eyes, buried in serious 
thought: but no one spoke. 

At such a time every one is supposed to address 
a sermon to his own heart, but I am very much 
afraid that Tom -Granger addressed none to him- 
self, for his thoughts flew here and there and 
everywhere, and his mind was never still a moment 
in the chase of them. Now and then he shifted 
himself uneasily on the hard wooden bench, trying 
to find a more comfortable position than the one in 
which he was sitting, but the seats in Friends’ 
meeting were not made with a thought to comfort 
in those days. There was a long partition that ran 
down the length of the meeting, separating the 
men’s from the women’s side. 


lO 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


After a while Tom’s eyes wandered over this 
partition in a way that they had no business to do. 
It was toward the place where his mother and his 
sisters sat that his eyes rested the most, but it was 
not at them that he was looking, for Patty Penrose 
sat between his mother and him. 

After a man has ' reached the age of four and 
twenty, it becomes a continued source of wonder to 
him how the little girls about him grow up into 
young women. You leave a poor lean little chit 
of a thing ; a few years pass, you meet her and, lo ! 
she is transmogrified into a young woman, going 
her sedate way with very different thoughts in her 
head than when you saw her last. It seems as 
though it were only a week or two since you 
patted her upon the head and said kind things to 
encourage her ; now your heart shrinks at the 
thought of such boldness, and you feel that she 
needs encouragement no longer. 

When Tom had last seen Patty Penrose, three 
years before, he left her just such a little chit as I 
have spoken to you of, — lean and not graceful. 
She used to come over now and then to play with 
his sister Mary, but he had not noticed her except- 
ing when she stayed to dinner or to supper. 
Even then he had not observed her very closely, 
and had not had much to say to her, for she 
was too shy to make it a pleasure to him to 
talk to her, and too young for it to be worth 
while for him to put himself out to amuse her. 
He would give her a nod with a “How is thee, 


WITHIN THE CATES. 


II 


Patty?” and then would turn his mind to other 
things. 

Now, when he first looked at her sitting across 
the meeting beside his mother, he did not know 
her; then he saw first one little thing and then 
another, until it slowly dawned upon him that it 
was Patty Penrose, though not the Patty Penrose 
that he had known in times past. At first he 
looked with wonder and interest at the change that 
had come in three years ; but, after a while, his 
interest took a very different shape with no wonder 
about it, and he thought that his sister Mary’s 
friend was a great deal better worth looking at than 
when he had last seen her, for Patty had grown 
into a very pretty girl, — a very pretty girl, indeed. 

She sat looking calmly before her ; but, though 
she seemed sedately unaware of his presence, as is 
becoming in a modest girl, I have not a grain of 
doubt that she knew that Tom Granger was at 
meeting that day, and, maybe, she even knew that 
he was looking at her at that moment. 

Her head was uncovered, for she had worn a 
broad beaver hat, such as they used in those days, 
and she held the hat in her lap. She sat with her 
side turned to Tom, and it made his heart feel very 
warm as he looked at her pale, delicate face, the 
long lashes of her eyes, the smooth roundness of 
her chin and throat, and the soft curling of -the 
brown hair at her forehead and temples. Sq, as I 
said, he was preaching no sermon to himself as he 
sat in silent meeting that day. 


12 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


At length, the court-house clock around the 
corner of Market street struck eleven. They all sat 
in silence for a minute or two longer, and then old 
Thomas Winterapple shook John Stidham by the 
hand, and meeting was broken. After that they all 
went out into the sunlight and the open air again. 

Will Gaines went over to where the young 
women were standing talking together, and said a 
few words to Susan, and Tom followed after him. 

Patty was standing beside his mother. 

“ Thomas, this is Patty Penrose,” said she, turn- 
ing to him; “don’t thee remember Patty?” 

Tom knew that the color was rising in his face; 
knowing it, he felt very uncomfortable, and that 
made his cheeks burn all the hotter. It Avas a 
different matter talking to Patty now from what it 
had been three years ago. Oh, yes, he remem- 
bered Patty; “How is thee, Patty?” said he, hold- 
ing out his hand to her. Her little fingers rested 
in his only for a moment, and then were quickly 
withdrawn. 

“ I’m pretty well, thank thee, Thomas,” said she. 

Then there was a space of silence, during which 
Tom was thinking of something to say. This was 
no easy thing for him to do on the spur of the 
moment, considering how little he knew of Patty 
and her ways. He stood with his hands clasped 
behind him, looking at her and waiting for a 
thought, and she stood looking down at the toe of 
her shoe. Presently she raised her eyes to his face 
for a moment. 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


13 


''Has thee just come back, Thomas?” said she. 

“Yes; I came back yesterday afternoon.” 

“ Thee’s been gone a long while this time, hasn’t 
thee?” 

“About three years.” 

And then they were silent again. 

Just then Isaac Naylor came up and spoke to 
Patty, and she turned partly away from Tom to 
answer him. It seemed to Tom that it was a relief 
to her to talk to some one else beside him, and no 
doubt it was, for she must have felt easier with 
Isaac than she did with Tom, knowing him so 
much better. After this, several of the young men 
came up, and in a little while Patty and his sister 
were quite surrounded by them, and were pres- 
ently talking and laughing at a great rate, about 
people and things of which Tom knew little or 
nothing. Isaac Naylor stood amongst the other 
young men ; he did not talk to Patty and Mary as 
they did, but he seemed contented to remain where 
he was. 

At last Tom’s brother Henry plucked him by 
the sleeve of his coat, “ Is thee ready to go now, 
Thomas?” said he. “Father and mother have 
gone and I’m ready to go if thee is.” Henry was 
too young yet to talk to the girls with any ease, 
and so the waiting was no pleasure to him. 

“Yes; I guess I’m about ready,” said Tom. He 
felt that he had been awkward and ungainly before 
Patty, and he would have liked to say a word or 
two more to her before he left her to set himselt 


14 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


straight in her opinion. But he saw no chance for 
this in all the talk and laughter that was going on 
around Mary and her, so there was nothing left for 
him to do but to go. 

As Henry and he walked along the turn-pike 
road, numbers of Friends passed them on their way 
homeward from meeting. 

There was a clatter of hoofs behind them, and 
old Elihu Penrose came riding by with Patty back 
of him on the pillion saddle. 

'‘Woahl” cried he, reigning in his horse when he 
had come up to Tom and Henry. “How is thee, 
Thomas ? I’m glad to see thee back again.” 

“ I’m glad to get back again,” said Tom. 

“ That’s right ! I like to hear a young man say 
he’s glad to get back home again, — it sounds well. 
Come over and see us some time.” 

“I will,” said Tom; “I’d like to come over very 
much.” 

“Very well; do. Come over soon. Farewell.” 

Then he clicked to the horse and rode on, turn- 
ing down the road that led through the shady 
woods to the old mill. 

“ Patty Penrose’s a mighty pretty girl ; ain’t she, 
Thomas?” said Henry. 

Tom made no answer, and they walked on in 
silence. 

At dinner time, Patty was brought up as a 
subject of talk. 

“ Don’t thee think she’s very pretty, Thomas ?** 
said Susan. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


n 


"Well — I don’t know,” said Tom, hesitatingly; 
"n— not so very.” I do not know why he should 
have answered as he did, but, somehow, he did not 
feel like saying that he thought Patty was pretty. 

” Well, I can’t help thinking as thee does about 
it, Thomas,” said Mary; “I love Patty Penrose 
very dearly, but, I must say, I never could see her 
beauty.” 

“She’s the prettiest girl in the neighborhood,” 
said William. 

“I know some people think she’s pretty,” said 
Mary, /‘but, I must say, I don’t see where her 
beauty lies. Her nose isn’t good, and she has 
hardly a bit of color in her face. She’s a dear 
good girl, but I don’t think she’s what one would 
call handsome.” 

“ Thee isn’t of the same way of thinking as the 
young men,” said John. “There isn’t one within 
ten miles of Eastcaster who doesn’t think that she’s 
the prettiest girl in the township. There isn’t a girl 
in the neighborhood who has as much company 
as she.” 

“ Nonsense,” said Susan ; “ what does thee know 
about it, John? Leave out Isaac Naylor and 
John Black and the two Sharpleys and she doesn’t 
have any more company than other people.” 

“All right,” said John, who had an ill way of 
holding to an opinion and never arguing about it, 
“ all right, have thy own way ; it doesn’t make any 
difference to me ; I only know whfit I hear the 
young men say about her/* 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


i6 

Then Tom’s father broke into the talk and noth- 
ing more was said about Ta.tty. “ I bought a new 
short-horn bull last fall, Thomas,” said he. “We’ll 
go over to the cattle-yard after dinner and take a 
look at it, if thee likes.” 

So presently they all gfot up from their chairs, 
and the men-folks went over to the barn-yard to 
take a look at the short-horn bull. 

But the talk at the dinner table had not pleased 
Tom, though I do not know why he should have 
disliked to have heard that Patty had a great deal 
of attention paid her; for how could it make any 
difference to him ? 


CHAPTER IL 


A S time wore along, Tom got into the habit of 
dropping in at Penrose’s and of spending an 
evening now and then. At first he would find him- 
self there once in every ten days or two weeks ; in 
time his visits became more and more frequent. 
Elihu was always very glad to see him and Patty 
herself seemed pleased at his coming. I think that 
some of the happiest evenings of his life were those 
spent in sitting on the porch of the old mill-house 
in the long summer twilights — Elihu and he smok- 
ing their pipes, he telling his adventures at sea and 
Patty sitting listening to him. Often some one of 
the young men of the ndghborhood would be at 
the house, and then it was not so pleasant for Tom ; 
his talk would cease, and after a little while, 
perhaps, he would arise and bid them farewell. 
Patty and her visitor would usually sit apart talk- 
ing and laughing together, and it would strike Tom 
how much more easy she seemed in the company 
of others than she did with him. More than once 
when he called he found that she had gone out 
riding with one of these young men, and then he 
and Elihu would spend the evening together, and 

17 


I8 


WITHIN THU CAPES. 


the old man would seem quite contented, fbf 
neither Patty nor he seemed to think that Tom’s 
visits were meant for any one else than him. 

One First-day evening Tom mustered up courage 
to ask Patty to take a walk with him. That even- 
ing is impressed upon his mind even yet, for he was 
very happy. There yvas a dim glow in the sky to 
the westward, and the road stretched away grey and 
glimmering between the blackness of the banks 
and bushes alongside of it. So, walking slowly 
and talking but little, they came to the bridge just 
below Whiteley’s barn, and there they stood lean- 
ing on the parapet, looking up the stream into the 
black woods beyond, from which came the many 
murmuring whispers of the summer’s night. All 
the air was laden with the spicy odor of the night 
woods, and through the silence the sound of the 
rushing and gurgling of the water of the brook 
came to them clearly and distinctly. There was a 
bit of marshy land beyond, over which flew fireflies 
in thousands, here gleaming a brilliant spark and 
there leaving a long trail of light against the black 
woodlands behind. For some time they both 
leaned upon the bridge without saying a word ; it 
was Patty that broke the silence at last. 

“ Does thee know, Thomas,” said she, that 
when thee first came home I was dreadfully afraid 
of thee ? Thee seemed to me to be so much older 
than I was, and then thee’d seen so much on thy 
travels.” 

*‘Thee aint afraid of me now, is thee, Patty?” 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


19 


“No, indeed; it seems as though thee might 
almost be a cousin of mine, I know thee so well. 
It does father so much good to see thee ; he’s never 
been the same since mother died till now.” 

There was a moment or two before Tom spoke. 

“ Perhaps it isn’t thy father I come to see, Patty,” 
said he, in a low voice. He leaned over the edge 
of the bridge as he spoke and looked fixedly into 
the dark rushing water beneath. 

Patty made no answer, and Tom was not sure that 
she heard him. Neither of them said another 
word until Patty said, in a low voice, “ I guess we’d 
better go home now, Thomas.” 

Then they turned and walked back again to the 
old mill. Tom opened the gate for Patty. “ Fare- 
well, Patty,” said he. 

“Won’t thee come up and see father, Thomas?” 
said she. 

“ Not to-night.” 

“ Farewell, then.” 

Tom watched her until she had gone up the 
porch steps and was hidden by the vines that were 
clustered about it. He heard Elihu say, “Where’s 
Thomas?” but he did not hear Patty’s answer; 
then he turned and walked slowly homeward. 

The summer passed, the fall passed, the winter 
passed, and the spring time had come again. 

Tom’s walk with Patty seemed to have broken 
through the smoothness of the acquaintance betwixt 
the three. 

Elihu had never been the same to him since that 


20 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


night ; he had never been as cordial or as friendly 
as he had been before. 

Sometimes it seemed to Tom as though Patty 
herself was growing tired of seeing so much of 
him. At such times he would vow within himself 
as he walked homeward that he would never call 
there again, and yet he always went back after a 
while. 

So things moved along without that pleasant 
friendliness in their acquaintanceship until that 
occurred which altered the face of everything. 

One First-day afternoon, Tom found himself 
standing on the porch of the mill-house. It was in 
the early part of April, but the day was very mild 
and soft, and Elihu and Patty were sitting on the 
porch. 

“How is thee, Thomas?” said Elihu. He did 
not take the pipe from his lips as he spoke, neither 
did he ask the other to be seated. Tom stood 
leaning against the post and no one spoke for a 
while. 

“ Isn’t it a lovely day ? ” said Patty. 

“Yes, it is,” said Tom; “would thee like to take 
a walk up the road as far as Whiteley’s ? ” 

“ Yes, I would,” said Patty; “ I haven’t been away 
from the house all day.” 

“ It’s very damp ; it’s too damp to walk,” said 
Elihu; “besides, thee’s got thy thin shoes on.” 

“But we’ll walk in the road, father; I’ll promise 
not to go off of the road. I’ll put on heavier shoes 
if thee thinks that these are too thin.” 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


21 


*'Very well, do as thee pleases,” said Elihu, 
sharply; “I think it’s too damp, but I suppose 
thee’il do as thee chooses.” Then he knocked the 
ashes out of his pipe and went into the house 
without another word, shutting the door carefully 
behind him. 

“ I don’t know why he doesn’t want me to go,” 
said Patty ; “ it’s a lovely day for a walk. Wait till 
I go in and speak to him, maybe he’ll change his 
mind;” and she followed her father into the house. 

“I can’t bear this any longer;” said Tom to him- 
self. “ I’ll have it over this afternoon, or I’ll never 
come here again. I’ll ask her to be my wife, and 
if the worst comes to the worst I’ll ship for 
another cruise.” 

Presently Patty came out of the house again. 
She had thrown a scarf over her shoulders. “Is 
thee ready to go, Thomas ?” said she. 

“ Yes ; I’m ready.” 

There was very little talk between them as they 
walked on side by side, for Tom’s heart was too 
full of that which was upon his mind to say much 
with his lips ; so they went down the road into the 
hollow, past the old mill, over the bridge that 
crossed Stony Brook just beyond, up the hill on 
the other side, past Whiteley’s farm-house, and so to 
the further crest of the hill that overlooked Rocky 
Creek Valley beyond. There they stopped and 
stood beside the fence at the roadside, looking 
down into the valley beneath them. It was a fair 
sight that lay spread out before their eyes — field 


22 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


beyond field, farm-house, barn and orchard, all 
bathed in the soft yellow sunshine, saving here and 
there where a cloud cast a purple shadow that 
moved slowly across the hills and down into the 
valleys. 

Isn’t it beautiful ?” said Patty, as she leaned 
against the rough fence, looking out across the 
valley, while the wind stirred the hair at her cheeks 
and temples. 

“Yes; it is;’’ said Tom, “it’s a goodly world to 
live in, Patty.” 

Then silence fell between them. 

“There’s the old Naylor homestead,” said Patty 
at last. 

“Yes; I see it,” said Tom, shortly, glancing as 
he spoke in the direction which she pointed. Then, 
after a while, he continued, “What a queer man 
Isaac Naylor is !” 

“I don’t see anything queer about him,” said 
Patty, looking down at the toe of her shoe. 

“ Well, I never saw a man like him.” 

“ He is a very good worthy man, and everybody 
respects him,” said Patty, warmly. 

“Oh ! I don’t deny that,” said Tom, with a pang 
at his heart. 

“ Thee couldn’t truthfully deny it if thee would, 
Thomas,” said Patty. 

“I’m only a rough sea-faring man,” said Tom. 
“ I don’t know that any one respects me very much.” 
He waited a moment, but Patty said nothing ; then 
he went on again : 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


^3 

“For all that, I’d rather be a man of thirty at 
thirty, and not as dead to all things as though I 
was a man of eighty. Isaac Naylor is more like a 
man of eighty than he is like one of thirty. No 
one would take him to be only five years older 
than I am.” 

” I don’t know any man that I respect as much 
as I do Isaac Naylor,” said Patty. “ I don’t like 
to hear thee talk against him as thee does. He 
has never spoken ill of thee.” 

“Thee need never be afraid of my saying any- 
thing more against him,” said Tom, bitterly; “I see 
that thee likes him more than I thought thee did. 
I might have known it too, from the way that he has 
been visiting thee during this last month or two.” 

“Why shouldn’t he visit me, Thomas?” 

“The Lord knows!” 

She made no answer to this, and presently Tom 
spoke again. 

“I’m going off to sea before long, Patty,” said he, 
for it seemed to him just then that the sea was a 
fit place for him to be. Patty made no answer to 
this; she was picking busily at the fringe of the 
scarf that hung about her shoulders. 

“ How soon is thee going, Thomas? ” said she at 
last. 

“Oh! I don’t know; in three or four weeks, I 
guess. It doesn’t matter, does it ? ” 

Patty made no reply. 

Tom was leaning on the fence, looking out 
across the valley, but seeing nothing. His mind 


24 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


was in a whirl, for he was saying unto himself, 
“Now is the time, be a man, speak your heart 
boldly, for this is the opportunity 1” 

Twice he tried to bring himself to speak, and 
twice his heart failed him. The third time that he 
strove, he broke the silence. 

“ Patty,” said he. His heart was beating thickly, 
but there was no turning back now, for the first 
word had been spoken. 

Patty must have had an inkling of ^vhat was in 
Tom’s mind, for her bosom was rising and falling 
’quickly. 

“ Patty,” said Tom again. 

“What is it, Thomas?” said she, in a trembling 
voice, and without raising her head. 

Tom was picking nervously at the rough bark 
■q on the fence-rail near to him, but he was looking 
It Patty. 

“Thee knows why I have been coming to see 
tl ee all this time, doesn’t thee, Patty ?” 

“ No,” whispered Patty. 

“Thee doesn’t know?” 

“No.” 

It seemed to Tom as though the beating of his 
!.eart would smother him: “Because, — because I 
/•^ve thee, Patty,” said he. 

Patty’s head sunk lower and lower, but she 
.^either moved nor spoke. 

Then Tom said again, “I love thee, Patty.” 

He waited for a while and then he said : “ Won’t 
hee speak to me, Patty ? ” 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 2$ 

"What does thee want me to say?” whispered 
she. 

" Does thee love me ?” 

Silence. 

"Does thee love me?” 

Tom was standing very close to her as he 
spoke ; when she answered it was hardly above her 
breath, but low as the whisper was he caught it — 

"Yes.” 

Ah me ! those days have gone by now, and I am 
an old man of four score years and more, but even 
yet my old heart thrills at the remembrance of 
this that I here write. Manifold troubles and griefs 
have fallen upon me betwixt then and now ; yet, 
I can say, when one speaks to me of the weariness 
of this world and of the emptiness of things 
within it, "Surely, life is a pleasant thing, when 
it holds such joys in store for us as this, — the 
bliss of loving and of being loved.” 

Half an hour afterward, Tom was walking down 
the road toward the old mill-house, and in his hand 
he held the hand of his darling— rhis first love— 
and life was veiy beautiful to him. 


CHAPTER III. 


N OW, although the good people of Eastcaster 
were very glad to welcome Tom Granger 
home again whenever he returned from a cruise, at 
the same time they looked upon him with a certain 
wariness, or shyness, for they could not but feel 
that he was not quite one of themselves. 

Now-a-days one sees all kinds of strange people ; 
the railroad brings them, — young men who sell 
dry-goods, books and what not. They have 
traveled all over the country and have, or think 
that they have, a world more of knowledge 
about things in general than other people who are 
old enough to be their father’s father. Such an one 
I saw this morning, who beat me three games of 
chequers, which, I own, did vex me; though 
any one might have done the same, for I was 
thinking of other things at the time, and my mind 
was not fixed upon the run of the game. One 
sees plenty of such people now-a-days, I say, but 
in the old times it ^/as different, and few strangers 
came to Eastcaster, so that but little was known 
of the outside world. The good people liked well 
enough to hear Tom tell of the many out-of-the- 
26 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


27 


way things that had happened to him during his 
knocking about in the world; at the same time 
there was always a feeling amongst them that he 
was different from themselves. Tom knew that 
they felt this way, and it made him more shy of 
going amongst his father’s neighbors than he would 
otheiVise have been. Nothing makes a man with- 
draw within himself as much as the thought that 
those about him neither understand him nor care to 
understand him. So it came about that Elihu Pen- 
rose was not very much pleased with that which had 
passed between Tom Granger and his daughter. 

As Tom and Patty walked home hand in hand, 
hardly a word was said betwixt them. When they 
came to the gate in front of the mill-house they saw 
that Elihu was not on the porch. 

“I’ll go in and speak to thy father now, Patty,” 
said Tom. 

“Oh, Tom! Will it have to be so soon?” said 
Patty, in a half-frightened voice. 

“The sooner spoken, the sooner over,” said Tom, 
somewhat grimly, for the task was not a pleasant 
one to do, as those who have passed through the 
same can tell if they choose. 

So Tom went into the house, and Patty sat down 
on a chair on the porch to wait for his coming out 
again. 

Tom looked in through the half-open door of the 
dining-room and saw Elihu sitting in his cushioned 
rocking-chair in front of the smouldering fire, 
rocking and smoking the while. 


28 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


“May I come in?” said Tom, standing uncer- 
tainly at the door. 

“Yes; come in,” said Elihu, without moving. 

“ I have something to tell thee,” said Tom. 

“Sit down,” said Elihu. 

Tom would rather have stood up, for he felt 
easier upon his feet ; nevertheless, he sat down as 
he was bidden, leaning his elbows on his knees 
and gazing into the crown of his hat, which he 
held in his hand and turned about this way and 
that. 

Old Elihu Penrose’s eyebrows were bushy and 
thick, and, like his hair, were as white as though 
he had been in the mill of time, and a part of the 
flour had fallen upon him. When he was arguing 
upon religion or politics, and was about to ask 
some keen question that was likely to trip up the 
wits of the one with whom he was talking, he had 
a way of drawing these thick eyebrows together, 
until he had hidden all of his eyes but the grey 
twinkle within them. Though Tom did not raise 
his head, he felt that the old man drew his eye- 
brows together just in this manner, as he looked 
upon him where he sat. 

Not a word was spoken for some time, and the 
only sounds that broke the stillness of the room 
was the regular “creak, creak” of the rocker of 
the chair on which Elihu sat, and the sharp and 
deliberate “tick, tack” of the tall, old eight-day 
clock in the entry. 

Old Elihu broke the silence; he blew a thin 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


29 


thread of smoke toward the chimney, and then he 
said: “What is it thee wants to say to me 
Thomas?” And yet, I have a notion that he 
knew very well what it was that Tom was going to 
tell him. 

Then Tom looked up and gazed straight into the 
grey twinkle of Elihu’s eyes, hidden beneath their 
overhanging brows. “ I — I love thy daughter, ” 
said he, “ and she’s promised to be my wife.” 

Elihu looked at Tom as though he would bore 
him through and through with the keenness of his 
gaze, and Tom looked steadfastly back again at 
him. He felt that Elihu was trying to look him 
down, and he drew upon all of his strength of 
spirit not to let his eyes waver for a moment. At 
last Elihu arose from his chair and knocked the 
ashes out his pipe into the fire-place. 

Then Tom stood up too, for he was not going to 
give the other the advantage that a standing man 
has in a talk over one that is seated. 

“Thomas,” began Elihu, breaking the silence 
again, and he thrust his hand into his breeches 
pocket, and began rattling the coppers therein, 

“Well ?” said Tom. 

“ I take it thee’s a reasonable man ; — at least, thee 
ought to be, after all the knocking around that 
thee’s done ” 

This did not sound very promising for the talk 
that was to come. “ I hope I’m a reasonable man,” 
said Tom. 

“Then Til speak to thee plainly, and without any 


30 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


beating about the bush; — I’m sorry to hear of this, 
and I wish that it might have been otherwise.” 

“Why?” 

“I should think that thee might know why, 
without putting me to the pains of telling thee. 
We’re a plain folk hereabouts, and the son’s 
followed in his father’s steps for a hundred and fifty 
years and more. I suppose that it’s an old- 
fashioned way that we have, but I like it. I’d 
rather that my daughter had chosen a man that had 
been contented with the ways of his father, and one 
that I had seen grow up under my eye, and that I 
might know that I could rely upon. I’ve seen little 
or nothing of thee, since thee ran away to sea, ten 
or twelve years ago.” 

“ I don’t see why that should weigh against me.” 

“Don’t thee?” 

“No. My trade isn’t farming, to be sure, but 
such as it is, I work steadily at it. I’m sober; I 
don’t drink, and I trust that I’m no worse than most 
men of my age.” 

“That may all be true; I know nothing of thy 
habits, but this I do know, — that thee ran away 
from home once; what surety have I that thee 
won’t do it again ?” Tom made a motion as though 
to interrupt him, but Elihu held up his hand ; “ I 
know! I know!” said he; “thee don’t feel, just 
now, as though such a thing could happen ; but my 
observation has led me to find that what a man will 
do once, he may do again. Besides all this, thy 
trade must unsettle thy life more or less; thee 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 3I 

knows the old saying,--^* a rolling stone gathers no 
moss/ ” 

“ I don’t know why a man should want to stay 
long enough in one place to get moss-grown/' 
said Tom. 

'‘That is all very well,” said Elihu Penrose, “but 
we hereabouts have been content to grow green 
in the same • place that our fathers grew green 
before us. So, I tell thee plainly I wish that Patty 
had chosen some one that I know better than I do 
thee. Of course, I shan’t bridle her choice, but I 
wish that it had been Isaac Naylor. I believe that 
she would have chosen him if thee hadn’t come 
home amongst us.” 

There was a time of silence between them in 
which both were sunk deeply in thought; then 
Tom spoke very bitterly : “ I see thee don’t like 
me.” 

“ Thee’s wrong to say that, Thomas,” said Elihu ; 
“ I have no dislike for thee at all.” 

“ It looks very much as though thee had.” 

“I don’t see that at all. I want to see my 
daughter well settled in the world, — that’s all.” 

“I should think that thy daughter’s happiness 
would weigh more with thee than anything else.” 

“It does,” said Elihu, somewhat sternly, “and I 
hope that I shall know what is best for her happi- 
ness without being taught by any man, young or 
old.” 

“ I had no thought to teach thee.” 

Silence followed this, till, after a while, Elihu 


32 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


spoke again. “However/' said he, “all this is 
neither here nor there; Patty’s chosen thee from 
amongst the rest, and she must lie upon the bed 
that she’s made for herself, for I don’t see that I 
can justly interfere. T can only make myself sure 
that thee is able to support a wife, before thee 
marries her. How much does thee make a year ?’’ 

“About five hundred for pay. Maybe I could 
make a couple of hundred more in the way of 
trade here and there, if I keep my wits about me.” 

“Does thy trade bring thee in forty dollars a 
month now?” 

“ About that.” 

Elihu, sunk in thought, looked at Tom for a 
while, without speaking. Tom stood looking at 
his finger-tips, very unhappy and troubled in his 
mind. After a while the absent look left Elihu’s 
eyes, and he spoke again. 

“Thomas,” said he, “ I have no wish to be hard 
on thee, or any man in the world. It’s not thee, 
but thy trade, that don’t please me. If thee was 
living quietly at home, like thy brothers John and 
William, I’d be glad to give my daughter to thy 
father’s son, for he and I have been old friends, 
and have known each other since we were boys 
together. However, I’m not prepared to say that 
thee shall not marry Patty, so I'll make a proposi- 
tion to thee. If thee’ll show me seven hundred 
and fifty dollars of thy own earning at the end of a 
year’s time, I am willing that thee shall have her. 
Is that fair?” 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


33 


Yes ; I suppose it is,” said Tom. 

“ Very well. Show me seven hundred and fifty 
dollars at the end of a year’s time from to-day, and 
I’ll give thee leave to marry Patty. Farewell.” 

“ May I see Patty now?” 

“ I reckon so. There’s no reason that thee 
shouldn’t see her that I know of” 

Then Tom left the room. He found Patty sitting 
on the porch when he went out. He was feeling 
very bitter, for his talk with Elihu had not been of 
the pleasantest kind. It seemed to have taken 
much of the joy out of his new happiness, for the 
grudging words of Elihu’s consent had stung his 
pride very sharply. Therefore there was a smack 
of bitterness in his joy that spoilt the savor of the 
whole. He sat down by Patty without a word, and 
began rubbing his palm slowly over the end of the 
arm of the chair on which he was sitting, looking 
down at it moodily the while. It was both weak 
and selfish in him to give way to such feelings at 
such a time, but love is a subtle joy that only one 
false chord will jar the whole out of tune, and, for 
the time, there will be discord in the heart. 

Patty sat looking at him, as though waiting for 
him to speak. 

“ Thy father don’t seem much pleased with this, 
Patty,” said he, at last. 

“ Never mind, Tom,” said Patty, and her little 
hand slid over and rested softly upon his own ; 
“ he’ll like it when he is more used to the thought 
of it. bather’s queer, and sometimes harsh in his 

3 


34 


mrmist THE CAPES, 


ways, but his heart is all right. No one could be 
more kind and loving than he is to me. When he 
finds how dear thee is to me, he’ll like thee for my 
sake, if for nothing else. After a while he will 
be as proud of thee as though thee were his own 
son.” 

“ I hope that he will like me better, as time goes 
on,” said Tom, but the tone of his voice said, “ I 
don’t believe he will.” 

“Yes; his liking will come all in good time, 
Tom ; ” then, very softly, “ Isn’t thee happy, Tom ?” 

“Yes; I’m happy,” said Tom, but in truth, his 
words belied his thoughts a little, and his voice, I 
think, must have somewhat belied his words. 

“Tom,” said Patty, and he looked up. She 
looked bravely and lovingly into his eyes; “I am 
very happy,” said she, in a low voice. 

“ God bless thee, Patty !” said Tom, in a voice 
that trembled a little; “thee’s a good girl, — too 
good a girl for me. I’m afraid I’m not worthy of 
thee.” 

“I’m satisfied,” said Patty, quietly. “Tell me; 
what did father say to thee, Thomas ?” 

Then Tom told all that had passed, and the 
telling of it seemed to blow away the dark clouds 
of his moodiness ; for, as he talked, it did not seem 
to him that the old man’s words had been as bitter 
as he had felt them to be at the time. After all, he 
had said nothing but what he should have said, 
considering that it behooved him to see his daughter 
well settled in the world. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 35 

‘*Thee can earn seven hundred and fifty dollars 
in a year’s time, can’t thee, Thomas ?” 

“ I hope so.” 

“ Then it’ll only be waiting a year, and that isn’t 
a long time, Tom, is it? Thee’ll find me just the 
same when thee comes back again.” Patty talked 
very bravely ; — I believe that she talked more 
bravely than she felt, for her eyes were bright with 
tears, beneath the lids. 

“ It’s pretty hard to have to leave thee so soon,” 
said Tom. “ I’ll have to leave thee soon if I’m to 
earn all that money in a year’s time.” 

Both were sunk in thought for a while. How 
long will it be before thee starts, Tom ?” said Patty, 
presently. 

“ Not longer than a week, I guess.” 

Patty looked at him long and earnestly, and then 
the tears brimmed in her eyes. Poor girl ! What 
happiness it would have been to her, if she could 
have had Tom with her for a while, while their joy 
was still fresh and new. The sight of her tears 
melted away all the little bitterness that was still in 
Tom’s heart; he drew her to him, and she hid her 
face in his breast and cried. As he held her 
silently, in his arms, it seemed to him that their 
love had not brought them much happiness, so 
far. 

After a while, she stopped crying, but she still 
lay with her face on his shoulder. 

As Tom walked home that afternoon, he met 
Isaac Naylor coming down the mill-road from the 


36 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


turnpike, He knew that Isaac v/as going straight 
to Penrose’s house. 

“How is thee, Thomas?” said he, as they passed 
one another. 

Tom stared at him, but said never a word. He 
turned and looked after Isaac as the Friend walked 
briskly down the road that led through the woods 
to the mill. 

“Never mind, friend Isaac,” said he, half-aloud, 
“ the father may like thee better than he does me, 
but the daughter’s mine.” A thrill darted through 
his heart as he said this, for it made him realize 
that she was indeed his, and his alone. It was the 
last time that he saw Isaac for a year and a half 

Tom went straight to his mother and told her 
everything. A mother is nearer to her son in such 
matters than a father, for there is more in a woman’s 
sympathy than there is in a man’s. If he had had 
any trouble in regard to money matters, he would, 
no doubt, have gone to his father; but troubles 
like these that were upon him were more fitted' for 
his mother’s ears. 

“ I wish thee’d never run away to sea,” said 
Tom’s mother. 

“I wish so too,” said Tom; “but it can’t be 
helped now. I did run away to sea, and there’s an 
end of it.” 

“ Can’t thee find some way of making a living at 
home? Maybe Elihu Penrose would like thee 
better than he does if thee could stay at home, as 
other young men do.” 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


37 


How can I make a living at home ?” said Tom, 
bitterly. “ Can thee tell me of any way to make 
it?" 

“ No ; but something might turn up." 

I can’t wait for the chance of something turning 
up. I have seven hundred and fifty dollars to make 
in twelve months' time." 

Neither of them spoke for a while. Tom sat 
beside his mother, and she was holding his hand 
and softly stroking it the while. 

“ Mother," said Tom, at last. 

“ Well, son?" 

Does thee know what I’ve pretty well made up 
my mind to do ? " 

“What?" 

“To go to Philadelphia on the stage to-morrow 
morning, and to take the first berth that I can get." 

“ Oh, Thomas ! thee wouldn’t go so soon, surely ! 
What would Patty do ?" 

“ Patty would have to bear it, mother. She’ll 
have to bear it, anyhow. It’ll be just as hard to 
leave to-morrow week as it will to-morrow. The 
sooner I leave the sooner I’ll be back, thee knows." 

All this was very reasonable, but, nevertheless, 
his heart failed him at the thought of leaving. “ Of 
course,” he burst out, after a while, “ of course, it’s 
as hard for me to go as it is for her to have me go." 

“ I don’t know that, Thomas," said his mother, in 
a trembling voice. “ Thy life will be full of work 
and change. Patty will have nothing to do but to 
think of thee." 


3S 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


“ Well, all the same, its hard to leave her, and 
the knowledge that she will suffer don’t make it 
any the easier for me.” 

He got up and began walking restlessly up and 
down the room. Presently he stopped in front of 
his mother. 

“ Yes, mother,” said he, “ I’ll go on the stage 
to-morrow morning. There’s no use putting it off 
any longer, and I’d be a coward to do so.” 

Then his mother put her handkerchief to her 
face, and the tears that she was keeping back came 
very freely. 

The next morning at half-past seven o’clock Tom 
knocked at the door of Elihu Penrose’s house. 
The mill-house was about three-quarters of a mile 
from the turnpike, and as he had to meet the stage 
there about eight o’clock, he had only a few minutes 
in which to say farewell. 

He walked straight into the dining-room. Patty 
was busy putting away the breakfast dishes, and 
Elihu sat at his old brass-handled desk, footing up 
his accounts. He looked up as Tom came in, and 
the color flew into Patty’s cheeks. 

“ Thee’s beginning thy courting early in the 
morning, Thomas,” said Elihu, dryly. 

Tom vouchsafed no answer to this. He stood 
leaning against the door-frame, and his eyes were 
fixed upon Patty. 

“ I’m going to leave home this morning,” said he. 

Neither of the three spoke for a moment or two. 
Tom stood looking at Patty, his hands clasped in 


WiTHtM THM CAPES, 


front of him, feeling unutterably miserable. Elihu 
had arisen from his chair, and he and Patty were 
gazing at Tom, surprised at the suddenness of what 
he had told them. Then Elihu came forward and 
laid his hand on Tom’s shoulder. 

“ Thomas,” said he, “ does thee mean that thee 
is going—” 

” I mean that Pm going to leave Eastcaster for a 
year,” said Tom. 

” This is — this is very sudden, Thomas,” said he. 

Tom nodded his head. 

“ Come, Thomas ; I had no wish to be liarsh 
with thee yesterday,” said the old man. “ I don’t 
want to push thee to the wall. This is very sud- 
den. Put off thy going for a week or two. Look 
here — even if thee don’t bring me the seven hundred 
and fifty dollars just at the end of the year, I won't 
count it against thee.” 

“ It’s too late now,” said Tom. ” My chest’s 
packed, and father’s going to put it on the stage 
for me. I’ll not be unmanly and put off the going, 
now that everything is fixed for it. If I’d have 
known how thee felt yesterday, I don’t deny that I 
might have stayed a little while longer. But it 
won’t do to stop now that I’ve started.” 

All this he spoke without looking at Elihu. 
Elihu took his hand from Tom’s shoulder. Pie 
stood for a moment as though he were about to say 
something farther; then he slowly picked up his 
hat and left the room, and Tom and Patty were 
alone. 


40 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


In about a quarter of an hour the old man came 
back again. Tom looked up at the clock. It was 
a quarter to eight, and he knew that the time was 
come for him to go. Patty and he had been sitting 
on the sofa, holding one another’s hand. They had 
been silent for some time, and they both arose 
without a word. 

Tom stood looking long and earnestly at Patty. 
Her face was bowed upon her breast. “ Patty, my 
darling,” whispered he, and then she looked up. 

Her eyes were brimming with the tears that she 
had kept so bravely hidden until now, and then 
two bright drops ran slowly down her cheeks. 

“ Farewell, my darling,” murmured he, in a low, 
broken voice. He drew her to him, and their lips 
met in one long kiss. Then he turned, and ran 
out of the house. He did not say farewell to 
Elihu, for he could not have spoken the words, if 
he had tried to do so. 

Ah, me ! The searching pain of such a parting ! 
Surely, the Good Father would never have put us 
on this world to live the life here, were it not that 
there is a world and a life to come wherein such 
partings shall never be. He hath given that the 
birds of the air and the beasts of the field shall not 
suffer dread of grief to come, and but little sorrow 
for things gone by. Why, then, should He give it 
to us, flis goodliest creatures, to bear these things, 
if nothing of good or evil was to come of such 
suffering hereafter ? 


CHAPTER IV. 


T hese things happened in the spring of *13, 
and the war with England was in full swing. 
We thought that we knew a great deal about the 
war at East caster, but we really knew little or 
nothing of it. 

The Philadelphia stage brought down the Ledger 
from that town three times a week, and Joseph 
Anderson, the teacher at the Friends’ school, 
would read it aloud at the “ Black Horse ” tavern 
(it was the “Crown and Angel” then) in the 
evening. A great many came to hear the news, ^ 
and it was said that the tavern did a driving busi- 
ness at the time ; for, of course, no one could come 
and sit there all evening and drink nothing. 

The folks talked with great knowledge about the 
war; some of them so wisely that it was a pity that 
poor President Madison did not have the chance to 
hear them. 

The truth of the matter was that Eastcaster was 
too far away from deep water to feel the full heat 
and excitement of the trouble. 

The part that interested Tom the most was the 
news that came now and then of the great sea 

41 


42 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


battles; that being the year that the noble old 
Constitution did her best fighting. 

When Tom Granger came to Philadelphia, he 
found matters at a very different pass from what 
they were in Eastcaster, for there was talk just at 
that time of Commodore Beresford sailing up the 
river to bombard the town; so Tom found the 
streets full of people and everything in great 
fervent, as it had been for some time past. 

Just outside of the town, the stage passed near 
to where two regiments of militia were encamped, — 
one of them not far from Grey’s Ferry. 

The next morning after Tom came to Philadel- 
phia, he called at the office of old Mr. Nicholas 
Lovejoy, who was the owner of the ship in which 
he had last sailed. It was the Quaker City, and 
Tom had had the berth of third mate aboard her, 
which was a higher grade than he had ever held up 
to that time. 

Mr. Lovejoy, beside being the owner of two 
good ships himself, one of which, Tom had reason 
to think, was then lying at the docks, had a great 
deal of influence with other merchants and ship 
owners. He had always been very friendly to Tom, 
and had said pleasant things of him and to him more 
than once, so Tom had great hopes of getting a 
berth through him without much loss of time. 

His wish was to ship to the West Indies, if he 
could, as that did not seem so far away from home. 

Mr. Lovejoy was at his desk when Tom came 
into the office ; a great pile of letters and papers 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


43 


were in front of him, which he was busy in looking 
over. He shook hands cordially with the young 
man and bade him be seated. Tom told him what 
he wanted, and Mr. Lovejoy listened to him very 
pleasantly. When he was done, the old gentleman 
said frankly that there was a poor chance of his 
getting any berth just then, for that no shipping 
was being done, the Delaware having been 
blockaded since the first of the year. 

Mr. Lovejoy did not know at that time that the 
blockade had been raised, for it was not until a 
week or so afterward that the despatch came to 
Philadelphia telling how Beresford had tried to 
land for water at Lewestown, m Delaware, and not 
being able to do so, had given up the whole busi- 
ness as an ill piece of work and had sailed away 
to the Bermudas. 

Mr. Lovejoy furthermore told Tom that there 
were three privateers being fitted up at the docks, 
one of which was about ready to sail. 

In those days there was a great deal of feeling 
against privateering, and I cannot say that it was 
altogether ill-grounded, for some very cloudy things 
were done by certain vessels that .sailed under 
letters of marque. 

Mr. Lovejoy was a fine looking old gentleman, 
with a very red face and very white hair, which was 
tied behind into a queue with a black silk ribbon. 
He was never .seen dressed in anything but plain 
black clothes with bright silver buttons, black silk 
stockings and pumps. His frilled shirt front stood 


44 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


out like a half moon and was stiffly starched and 
as white as snow. 

After Tom and he had talked a little while 
together, he arose, and going to a closet in the side 
of the chimney place, brought out a decanter of 
fine old sherry and two glasses, both of which he 
filled. Tom Granger was not fond of wine, not 
from any conscientious feeling, but because that the 
taste v/as not pleasant to him. Still, he took his 
glass of wine and drank it too, for it is never well 
to decline favors from men in power, like Mr. 
Nicholas Lovejoy. 

After the old gentleman had finished his glass of 
wine, he drew out his fine cambric handkerchief 
and wiped his lips. 

“Tom,” said he. 

“ Sir,” said Tom. 

“Why don’t you ship on board of a priva- 
teersman?” 

“ I couldn’t do it, sir,” said Tom. 

“Why not?” 

“ Well, sir; it may sound very foolish of me to say 
so, but the truth is that I don’t like the fighting.” 

“Don’t like the fighting!” said Mr. Lovejoy, 
raising his eyebrows. “Come, Tom, that won’t do. 
Why, when that junk attacked the Quaker City 
ofT Ceylon, there was not a man aboard that fought 
like you. Captain Austin told me all about it, 
though you would never do so, and I haven’t 
forgotten it. And now you pretend to tell me that 
you are afraid.” 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


45 


"'No, sir/’ said Tom Granger, ver>^ hot about the 
cars; “ it ain’t that ; it’s the hnd of fighting that I 
ddn’t like. When such a junkfull of coolies as that 
was came down on us. a man was bound to fight 
for his own life and the lives (and more beside) of 
the women aboard, and there was no great credit 
to him in doing it. If the worst came to the worst, 
I wouldn’t so much mind entering the navy, but I 
don’t like the notion of going out to run foul of 
some poor devil of a merchant captain, who, 
maybe, has all of his fortune in his ship, — and 
that’s the truth sir.” 

“ But, Tom, the navy does the same thing.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, “but they do it for the sake 
of war, while privateers go out for their own gain 
alone. I don’t see, sir, that they are so very much 
better than pirates, except that they don’t do so 
much murder and that the law allows them.” 

At this, Mr. Lovejoy’s face began to grow a little 
bit redder than usual. “ Very well,” said he, getting 
up and standing with his back to the fire, “suit 
yourself.” 

By this Tom knew that it was intended for him 
to go, which he accordingly did. 

Just as he got to the door, Mr. Lovejoy spoke 
again : “ Look’ee, Tom, you are an able seaman, — 
none better. Think this matter over a little more, 
and if you are inclined to go on a privateering 
cruise, after all, I think that I may, perhaps, be able 
to get you a place aboard of as tight a craft as 
ever floated on salt water, and, maybe, a better 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


46 

berth than you ever had in your life before. There 
are some fat pickings down toward the West Indies 
just now; I shouldn’t wonder at all if, with the 
berth that I think I can get you, you would clear 
a thousand or twelve hundred dollars in the first 
twelve months. Good morning ; come to-morrow 
and let me know what you decide on.” Then the 
old gentleman seated himself at the desk and began 
to look over his papers again, and Tom left him. 

He went straight to his lodging-house (it was 
the old “ Ship and Anchor,” a great place for sailors 
in those days), and his mind was all of a swirl and 
eddy like the waters astern. 

It was a nasty, drizzly, muggy day, and Tom 
stood leaning on the window-sill in the bar-room, 
trying to look out into the street through the 
dirty, fly-specked window. The room was full of 
sailors, many of them, no doubt, belonging to the 
privateers that were fitting out at the docks, of 
which Mr. Lovejoy had spoken. There was a 
party of them playing cards at a sloppy table that 
stood beside the bar. The day was so dark with 
the rainy drizzle that they had a lighted candle 
amongst them, so that they might be able to see 
the game. The room, hazy with tobacco smoke, 
was full of the noise of loud talking and the air 
was reeking with the heavy smell of hot liquors. 
But Tom stood looking out of the window, with 
his mind all of a toss and a tumble; for the last 
words of old Nicholas Lovejoy sounded in his ears 
through all the loud talking and foul words:— 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


47 


“I shouldn't wonder if you would clear a thous- 
and or twelve hundred dollars in the first twelve 
months.” 

At times they sounded so clearly that he could 
almost believe that they were spoken by some one 
standing beside him. The more that the words 
rang in his ears, the more he thought what a fool 
he had been in not taking up with Mr. Lovejoy’s 
half offer. Why should he be squeamish? If 
every one were so, things would come to a pretty 
pass, for the navy was weak — in numbers — and the 
British were sending out their privateers all over 
the ocean ; and who was to fight them and protect 
our own shipping if no one helped the navy? 

So Tom argued within himself in the most 
reasonable way in the world, for the temptation was 
very great. 

As he stood thus, looking out of the window 
and seeing nothing, for his eyes were turned within 
himself, some one suddenly smote him upon the 
shoulder, and a voice roared in his ear, “Helloa, 
Tom Granger ! where are you bound ? ” 

It was a voice that Tom Granger knew very well, 
for there could be no other such in all of the world ; 
it made one’s ears quiver, even when it was softened 
somewhat to talking. So, even before Tom turned 
his head, he knew that Jack Baldwin was standing 
behind him. 

Jack Baldwin had been second mate of the 
Quaker City on the voyage to the East Indies. 

Tom Granger never saw in all his life such 


48 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


another man as Jack Baldwin. He stood nearly six 
feet and two inches in his stockings. His hair and 
beard were black and curly, and his eyes were as 
black as two beads. Tom once saw him pick up 
a mutinous sailor — a large and powerful man-—- 
and shake him as you might shake a kitten. To 
be sure, he was in a rage at the time. He was 
better dressed than Tom had ever seen him before. 
There was something of a half naval smack about 
his toggery, and, altogether, he looked sleek and 
prosperous, — very different from what Jack ashore 
does as a rule. 

Jack Baldwin saw that Tom Granger was looking 
him over. “ I’m on the crest of the wave now," 
said he, in his great, deep voice, grinning as he 
spoke. " Look’ee, Tom," and he fetched up a gold 
eagle from out of his breeches pocket. He spun it 
up into the air, and caught it in his palm again as 
it fell. "There’s plenty more of the same kind 
where this came from, Tom." 

" I wish that I only knew where the tree that 
they grow on is to be found," said Tom, ruefully. 

"So you shall, my hearty. And do you want 
me to tell you where it is ? ’’ 

" Yes." 

" Tom, you’re a loon ! " 

" Why so ? Because I want to know where the 
tree grows where gold eagles may be had for the 
picking ? " 

You were at the place this very blessed morn- 
ing, and might have gathered a pocketful of the. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 49 

bright boys if you hadn’t run before a little wind as 
though it was a hurricane.” 

“What do you mean?” said Tom, though he 
half knew without the asking. 

“ That I’ll tell you — here, you, bring me a glass 
of hot brandy and water; will you splice, Tom?” 

“ Not 1.” 

“ I bring to mind that you were always called the 
Quaker aboard ship, and the name fits you well. 
You will neither fight nor drink, without you have 
to.” 

So the grog was brought, and Jack Baldwin and 
Tom Granger sat down, opposite to one another, at 
a rickety deal table. 

Presently Jack leaned over and laid his hand on 
Tom’s arm. “Where do you think I hail from, 
Tom ? ” said he. 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ Well, ni tell you : from old Nick, or old Love- 
joy, or Davy Jones, — whichever you choose to call 
him. I was with him not ten minutes after you 
left He sent me after you, to hunt you up ; so 1 
came straight here, like a hot shot, for I knew I’d 
find you in the old place. Sure enough, I’ve found 
you, and here we are, — shipmates both.” 

“ And what did you want of me ? ” 

“ That I’ll tell you. Tom,” — here he lowered 
his voice to a deep rumble — “ have you seen the 
Nancy Hazleivood ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Well I’ll show her to you after a bit She is 

4 


50 


WITHIN THU: CAPES. 


lying in the river, just below Smith’s Island. She’s 
the new privateer.” 

Tom’s heart beat more quickly, but he only said, 
“ Is she ? ” 

Who do you think’s the owner, Tom?” 

“ How should I know?” 

” Old Lovejoy !” Here Jack raised his glass of 
grog, and took a long pull at it, looking over the 
rim at Tom all the while. Tom was looking down, 
picking hard at the corner of the table. 

“ I don’t sec that this is any concern of mine,” 
he said, in a low voice. 

“ Don’t you ? Well, I’ll tell you what concern it 
is of yours; I’m to be first mate, and I want you to 
be second, — and now the murder’s out !” 

Tom shook his head, but he said nothing. 

Jack Baldwin slid his palm down, until it rested 
on the back of Tom’s hand. ** Look’ee, Tom 
Granger,” said he, roughly; “I like you. We’ve 
been messmates more than once, and I don’t forget 
how you kept that yellow coolie devil from jabbing 
his d — d snickershee into my back, over off Ceylon. 
There’s no man in all the world that I’d as soon 
have for a shipmate as you. Old Lovejoy, too; — 
he says that he must have you. He knows very 
well that there isn’t a better seaman living than 
the one that stands in Tom Granger’s shoes. 
Don’t be a fool! Go to the old man, name your 
own figure, for he’ll close with you at any reason- 
able terms.” 

So Jack talked and talked, and Tom listened and 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


51 

listened, and the upshot of it was that he promised 
to go and see old Mr. Lovejoy again the next 
morning. 

You may easily guess how it all turned out, for 
when a man not only finds that he is in temptation, 
but is willing to be there, he is pretty sure to end 
by doing that which he knows is not right. 

So Tom drank another glass of Mr. Lovejoy’s 
fine old sherry, the old gentleman offered liberal 
terms, and the end of the matter was that Tom 
promised to enter as second mate of the Nancy 
Hazlewoody privateersman. 

Tom Granger has always felt heartily ashamed of 
himself because of the way that he acted in this 
matter. It is not that privateering was so bad ; I 
pass no judgment on that, and I know that there 
were many good men in that branch of the service. 

I have always held that a man is not necessarily 
wicked because he does a bad action ; he may not 
know that it is bad, and then, surely, no blame can 
be laid to his account. But when he feels that a 
thing is evil, he is wrong in doing it, whether it is 
evil or not. 

Jack Baldwin did nothing wrong in going on this 
privateering cruise, for he saw nothing wrong in it, 
but Tom Granger thought that it was wrong, and 
yet did it; therefore he has always felt ashamed of 
himself 

In looking back, after all these years, it is hard 
to guess what he expected would be the end of the 
matter, If he had come back in a year’s timej— * 


52 


WITIUN THE CAPES. 


which he did not do,-— and if he had brought home 
a thousand dollars of prize money from a priva- 
teering cruise, I am very much inclined to think 
that Elihu Penrose would hardly have judged that 
it had been fairly earned. 

Friends were very much more strict in their 
testimony against war then than they are now. 
Numbers of young men went from here during the 
rebellion, and nothing was thought of it. I myself 
had a grandson in the navy ; — he is a captain now. 

As I said, Elihu Penrose would hardly have 
fancied Tom Granger’s way of earning money, if it 
had been won in that way; as for what Patt>^ would 
have said and done, — I do not like to think of it. 

However, it is no use trying to guess at the color 
of the chicks that addled eggs might have hatched 
out, so I will push on with my story, and tell how 
the Nancy Hazlewood put to sea, and what befcli 
her there. 


CHAPTER V. 


T he Nancy Hazlewood put to sea on a Friday. 

Torn Granger was not over fanciful in the 
matter of signs and omens ; nevertheless, he always 
had a nasty feeling about sailing on that day; he 
might reason with himself that it was foolish, but 
the feeling was there, and was not to be done away 
with. The only other time that he had sailed on a 
Friday, was in the barque Manhattan (Captain 
Nathan J. Wild), bound for Nassau, with a cargo of 
wheat. About a week afterward, she put back into 
New York harbor again, and not a day too soon, 
either. Captain Granger has often told the tale of 
this short cruise, so I will not tell it over again, as 
it has nothing to do with this story, except to show 
why it was that Tom Granger always had an 
ill-feeling about sailing on P'riday. 

As a matter of fact, there was a greater and a 
better reason to feel worried than on account of 
this, for the truth was, that the Nancy Hazlewood 
put to sea fully ten days before she should have 
done so, and from that arose most of the trouble. 

The blame in the matter belonged no more to 
one than to another, for all thought that it was for 

53 


54 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


the best to weigh anchor when they did; never- 
theless, it was a mistake, and a very sad mistake. 

There never was any wish to cast a slur on the 
memory of Captain Knight, in the account of the 
matter that was afterward published, for no one 
ever said, to my knowledge, that he was anything 
else than a good seaman, and knew his business. 
But certainly, his headstrong wilfulness in the 
matter of the troubles that befell the ship was, to 
say the least, very blameworthy. 

Tom saw nothing of Captain Knight until the 
day before the ship sailed. Indeed, the captain had 
not been in town, so far as he knew. This had 
troubled him. lie had said nothing about it, but it 
had troubled him. 

About noon on Thursday, the day before the 
ship sailed, Tom came to Lovejoy’s dock, where he 
was overseeing the lading of some stores. One of 
the clerks at the dock told him that Captain Knight 
had been aboard of the ship, and also that he had 
wanted to see him, and had waited for him some 
time, but had gone about fifteen minutes before. 
A little while afterward Mr. Whimple, Mr. Love- 
joy’s hcad-clerk, came to him and asked him to 
step up to the office, as Captain Knight and Mr. 
Lovejoy were there, and wanted to speak to him. 

Captain Knight was standing in front of the fire, 
talking with Mr. Lovejoy, when Tom came into 
the office. He shook hands very heartily when 
Mr. Lovejoy made them acquainted, and said some 
kind things to Tom — that he had no doubt but 


WITHIN THE CAPES\ 


<s 

that their intercourse would be pleasant ; at least, 
he hoped so (smiling), for, from that which he had 
heard of Tom, he felt that it would be his own fault 
if it were not. He said that he was sorry that he 
had not been on hand to oversee matters, as he 
should have done, although he knew that these 
things could be in no better hands ; that his mother 
had been so sick that she had not been expected to 
live, and that it had not been possible for him to 
come on from Connecticut sooner. 

Tom felt relieved to find that Captain Knight 
had such a good reason for not having been on 
hand to see to the proper lading of his vessel. He 
also gathered from this speech that the captain was 
a Yankee, which he had not known before. Jack 
Baldwin told him afterward that he hailed from 
New London, and had the name of being a very 
good sailor and a great fighter. 

He was quite a young man, a little older than 
Tom, perhaps, but hardly as old as Jack Baldwin. 
He was a fine gentlemanly fellow, and looked not 
unlike a picture of Commodore Decatur that Tom 
had seen in the window of a print shop in Walnut 
street, though Knight was the younger man. 

After a short time Jack Baldwin came into the 
office ; Captain Knight and he spoke to one 
another, for they had met before. 

Presently, as they all stood talking together, Mr. 
Lovejoy asked of a sudden whether it would be 
possible, at a pinch, to weigh anchor the next 
day. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


Tom was struck all aback at this, and could 
hardly believe that he heard aright. 

“ I should think,” said Captain Knight, “ that it 
might be done;” and, from the way in which he 
spoke, Tom could see that he and Mr. Lovejoy had 
already talked the matter over and had pretty well 
settled ‘t between themselves. 

“What do you think, Mr. Baldwin,” said old Mr. 
Lovejoy, and all looked at Jack for an answer. 

“I think, sir,” said Jack, in his rough way, “I 
think, sir, as Captain Knight says, that it might be 
done. A man might cruise from here to Cochin 
China, in a dory, provided that he had enough 
hard-tack and water aboard. If he met a gale, 
though, he would be pretty sure to go to the 
bottom, — and so should we.” 

Tom could easily see that Captain Knight was 
touched at the way in which Jack had spoken, as 
well he might be. It was, however. Jack’s usual 
way of speaking, and it is not likely that he meant 
anything by it. 

“What do yozi think, Mr. Granger?” said 
Captain Knight, turning quickly to Tom, with a 
little red spot burning in each cheek. 

Tom was sorry that he was brought into the 
matter for he saw, as has been said, that Captain 
Knight was touched, and he did not want to 
say anything to gall him further. However, he 
answered, as he was asked: “I am afraid, sir,” said 
he, smiling, “that it may perhaps be a little risky 
to weigh anchor just yet.” Of course, he could 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


57 


not explain when it was not asked of him to do so, 
but he knew that it would take fully ten days, if 
not two weeks, to get the Nancy Hazleivood into 
anything like fit sailing trim. Not only were the 
decks hampered up with a mass of stores of all 
kinds (for it had been necessary to crowd them 
aboard in a great hurry), but no start had been 
made at drawing out watch, quarter and station 
bills. Tom could not help thinking that if Captain 
Knight had been on hand during the past week, he 
never would have given it as his opinion that the 
vessel was fit to sail, — even on a pinch. 

When Tom gave his answer, Captain Knight 
turned hastily away to the fire-place, and began in 
a nervous sort of a way to finger a letter-stamp that 
lay on the m.antle-shelf. Any one could see that 
he was very much irritated ; but in a few moments 
he turned around again, and seemed quiet enough, 
only that the red still burned in his cheeks. Mr. 
Lovejoy tried to throw oil on the troubled water. 

“ Mr. Granger,” said he, resting his hand ever so 
lightly on Tom’s arm for a moment, “ Mr. Granger 
has had a great deal to do this past week, and 
maybe (smiling) the overpress of work makes him 
think that there is more yet to be done than there 
really is. I wouldn’t,” said he, taking up a letter 
from his desk, I wouldn’t think for a moment, and 
neither would Captain Knight, of letting the Hazle- 
wood leave her anchorage just now, if it were not 
for this packet, which was sent to me this morning, 
about half-past ten o'clock.’* 


58 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


Here he handed the packet to Jack Baldwin, who 
read it, and then passed it to Tom without a word. 
It was the news that Beresford had lifted the 
blockade of the Delaware. 

“ You see,” said Mr, Lovejoy, “ here is a good 
chance of getting away. There is no knowing how 
soon John Bull will shut the door again, and then, 
here we’ll be penned up for six months, or more, 
perhaps.” 

Then Captain Knight spoke again. He said that 
while the ship might not be in fit trim for sailing 
in an ordinary case, some risks must be run with 
her, for risks, greater or less, must always be taken 
in this sort of service. He said that he proposed 
to run for the Capes, and put into Lewes Harbor 
if the weather seemed likely to be heavy. They 
could get in proper trim there just as easily as they 
could in Philadelphia. He also said that, being 
just inside of the Capes, they would not only have 
good harborage, but could either slip out to sea 
or run up the bay, in case that any of the enemy’s 
cruisers should appear in the offing. Another 
great advantage was that they would be this much 
further on their cruise, and, if the weather turned 
out well, could take their chances and run for Key 
West, even if the ship were not in the best of order. 

“ I know,” said he, that both Mr. Baldwin and 
Mr. Granger have been bred to caution in the 
merchant service, where cargoes and storage are 
almost the first things to consider, but ” (here he 
looked straight at Jack), *‘one must have some 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


S9 

courage in the sort of service that we are about to 
enter upon, for a lack of that is almost as great a 
fault as poor seamanship.” 

There was a great deal of reason in the first part 
of this speech, and Tom could not help seeing it, 
though for all that he was troubled at the step 
which they seemed about to take. As for what 
was last said, he felt that it was most uncalled for, 
for he knew that Jack Baldwin was as brave as any 
man living ; nor was he, I think, a coward. 

Jack was very angry. He said that if any occa- 
sion should arise, he hoped to show Captain Knight 
that he would dare to do as much as any man that 
ever walked a deck-plank, no matter whom he 
might be; that he would say no more about lying 
in port, and was how willing to sail at any time — 
the sooner the better. 

Poor old Mr. Lovejoy was very much troubled 
at the ill feeling between the two men. He talked 
to both very kindly until, after a while, the trouble 
seemed to clear away somewhat, and things went 
more smoothly. 

At last it was settled that if the wind held to the 
northward (it had been blowing from that quarter 
for the last two days) they should weigh anchor 
at three o’clock in the afternoon, so as to take 
advantage of the ebb tide, and run down as far as 
Lewestown harbor at least. 

“What do you say to all this, Tom ?” said Jack, 
as the two walked down to the dock together. 

“ I sav nothing. Jack.” 


6o 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


** It seems to me that you never do say an5rthing,** 
said Jack, “but / say something; I say that we arc 
all a pack of lubberly fools, and that the worst one 
amongst us is that walking sea dandy, for he ought 
to know better.” 

Tom could not but agree with a part of this 
speech, but he made no answer, for it could do 
no good. 

The anchor was weighed at three o’clock the 
next day as had been fixed upon, and they ran 
down the river with the wind E. N. E. and an ebb 
tide to help them along ; and so began the cruise 
of the Nancy Hazlewood. 

All this may seem to be spun out somewhat over 
long, but I tell it to you that you may see just why 
the Nancy Hazlewood sailed when she did, which 
was ten days before she should have done. The 
day of sailing was Friday, the 20th of April, 1813. 

Tom wrote a letter to Patty Penrose on the 
evening before he sailed. It was a long letter and 
he told her many things, but he did not tell her 
that the vessel in which he had sailed as second 
mate was a privateersman. 

It may be well that the Nancy Hazlewood should 
be described, that you may have a notion of the 
craft in which Tom Granger went upon his first 
and last privateering cruise. She was a full-rigged 
ship of five hundred and fifty tons, and, though so 
small, had a poop and a top-gallant forecastle. 

Tom had rarely seen a vessel with handsomer 
lines. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


6l 


She was evidently intended for great speed, 
though, in his judgment, she was rather heavily 
sparred for a vessel of her size. It afterward proved 
that she was so. She carried eight thirty-two 
pound carronades on the main deck, and two long 
twelves, one on the forecastle and one on the poop ; 
and about one hundred men. Altogether, though 
not so heavily armed as the Dolphin or Cornet of 
Baltimore, she was one of the most substantial as 
well as one of the swiftest privateersmen that ever 
left any port of the country during the war. 

As a rule, privateersmen were swift-sailing brigs 
or schooners, heavily armed and manned, and 
depending largely upon their prizes for provisions; 
but the Nancy Hazleivood was fitted out almost as 
completely as though she were in the regular 
service. 

All that night and during Saturday the 2ist it 
blew heavily from the N. E. On Saturday evening, 
however, the weather broke and there seemed a 
prospect of its being clear the next day. On 
Sunday forenoon at two bells the Nancy Hazlewood 
was nearly abreast of Lewestown harbor. Captain 
Knight was on the poop at the time, and he gave 
orders to Tom, who was the officer of the deck, 
that a craft should be signaled to take off the 
pilot. 

Tom was struck all aback at this; it was the first 
hint that he had had that Captain Knight did not 
intend to put into Lewestown harbor after all. It 
was in rather an uncomfortable state of mind that 


62 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


he gave the needful orders, had the jack run up 
at the fore and the vessel hove to. 

Captain Knight stood beside Tom, his hands 
clasped behind him, watching the pilot boat as it 
presently hoisted sail and bore down under the 
lee quarter. What his feelings were cannot be told ; 
Tom’s were uncomfortable enough, as has been said. 
He knew that Captain Knight must have had good 
and sufficient reason for that which he was about 
to do; nevertheless, his heart sank as he cast his 
eyes around and saw the confusion everywhere; 
the deck littered with all sort of gear and hamper. 
There is an old saying that a vessel is never ready 
for sea until a week after leaving port. Tom 
thought that the Nancy Hazlewood was at least 
three weeks behind time. 

Presently Jack Baldwin came up from below. 
He cast his eyes quickly aloft, and then he looked 
at the pilot boat, which was now close under the 
lee quarter. 

Tom could see that he took it all in in a moment. 

He came straight across the deck to where 
Captain Knight and Tom Granger were standing, 
and touched his hat to the captain. 

“Captain Knight,” said he. 

“ Sir ?” said the captain, turning quickly upon 
him. 

“The understanding was that we were to put into 
Lewes Harbor, for a time; at least, so I understood 
it. May I ask if you intend to put to sea, after all ? ” 

Tom stood aghast. He had never heard an officei 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


63 

speak to his captain in such a way in all his life 
before. There was no better seaman afloat than 
Jack Baldwin, and it must have been a serious case, 
in his opinion, that would excuse him in so 
addressing his commanding officer. 

As for Captain Knight, he grew white to the lips. 

He spoke in a low tone, and very slowly, but his 
voice trembled with the weight of his anger. “ Mr. 
Baldwin,” said he, “ I don’t know where you have 
sailed, or what discipline you have seen, that has 
taught you to allow yourself to question your 
captain’s intentions to your captain’s self. Under- 
stand me, sir, once and for all : I am the chief 
officer of this ship, and I will not have you, nor 
any man aboard, question me. You hear me? 
That will do, sir ; go to your room.” 

The two men looked at one another for a 
moment. Tom held his breath, expecting to hear 
Jack blaze out with something that would get him 
into more trouble than ever. However, he said 
nothing, but swung on his heel and went below. 

Captain Knight stood beside Tom, in silence, his 
breath coming and going quickly; suddenly, he too 
turned and walked hastily to the cabin, banging the 
door behind him. 

Tom leaned on the rail, sick at heart; he felt 
miserable about the whole matter. Here he was, 
embarked on a cruise for which he had no liking, 
in the stormy season of the year, in a ship which 
he believed to be unfit for sailing, with a crew that 
had AO dif ciplinoi and the captain and the first ntate 


04 


WITHIN THE CATES. 


at loggerheads before they were out of harbor. He 
would have given an eye to be safe ashore again. 

And yet, that Sunday morning was not a day to 
breed troubled thoughts. Tom had rarely seen a 
lovelier one; the air seemed more like June than 
April. The last few days of rain had washed the 
air until it was as clear as crystal. One could see 
every window pane in the little town of Lewes. 
There was a sentry walking up and down on the 
newly-made earthworks in front of the town, and at 
every turn that he took at the end of his beat, his 
bayonet flashed like a star. The ship rose and fell 
lazily on the heaving of the ground swell that 
rolled in around the Capes. Down to the south- 
ward the white sands stretched away into the 
looming of the distance, rimmed with a whiter line 
of foam until all was lost in the misty haze cast up 
by the tumbling surf. 

The pilot boat had now run up near to them, 
and was launching a dory from her deck. Tom 
stood leaning on the rail, looking at her, and 
presently the pilot came and stood beside him. He 
was a short, powerful man, bull-necked and long- 
armed. A shock of hair and a grizzled beard 
seemed to make a sort of frame around his face. 
Even he felt uncomfortable at that which had just 
passed. 

“ A nasty row, wasn’t it, sir ? ” said he to Tom, 
jerking his head toward the captain’s cabin. 

Tom made no answer ; in fact, he did not look 
at the man, for it was none of the fellow’s business. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


65 


Presently the dory came alongside, and the pilot 
slid down the man-ropes and stepped cleverly into 
her. 

By noon the Nancy Hazlewood had dropped 
Cape May astern. The captain had sent for Jack 
to come upon deck again, to take his watch at 
eight bells. Captain Knight had directed her 
course to be laid S. E. by E., by which Tom sup- 
posed that he intended to run well out, so as to 
escape the chance of falling in with any of the 
British cruisers that were at that time hanging 
about the coast, more especially off the mouth of 
the Chesapeake. The wind was nearly astern, 
every inch of cloth was spread, and the way in 
which the Nancy Hazlewood boomed along showed 
Tom Granger that he had not overrated her sailing 
qualities. The log showed that she was running at 
a little over eleven knots. 

All of the afternoon Tom was in the forward 
part of the vessel, looking to the clearing away of a 
lot of stores, for they were getting things to rights 
as well as they could, and taking advantage of the 
fair weather to do it. 

And it was very needful, too, for, beside spare 
suits of sails and spars, lashed to nothing, there 
was a great litter of miscellaneous stores, — barrels 
of salt pork, junk, hard-tack, and flour, kegs, 
chests, crates, yeoman’s and purser’s stores, and a 
hundred and one things — too many to tell of. 

Tom could not help wondering, as he looked at 
this mass of stores, what they should do if it 


66 


WlTHm THE CAPES^. 


should be needful to man the guns for a fight, of 
work the ship in a sudden squall. However, no 
craft of any sort was in sight, and there was no 
sign of foul weather. 

One of the worst features of the whole matter 
was the slowness with which they got along with 
the business of clearing up all this hamper; the 
work seemed to gather on them instead of growing 
less. 

About the middle of the afternoon. Jack came to 
where Tom stood overseeing the men at this work. 
He stood beside him for some time without saying 
a word, looking moodily at them. Presently he 
spoke all of a sudden : “ What do you say to it all, 
Tom?” 

I have nothing to say. Jack,” said Tom. 

“ You may have nothing to say,” said Jack, ^‘but 
I have. Mark my words, Tom, if we’re caught in 
any sort of heavy weather we’ll founder as sure as 
my name’s Jack Baldwin!” So saying, he turned 
on his heel and walked quickly away. Tom could 
easily see that Jack felt touched at him because he 
did not show more feeling in the matter. But 
though Tom did not show it, his thoughts were 
uncomfortable enough in all conscience. 

That day (the twenty-second), was as good a day 
as one could have wished for, and so was the next, 
— and that was the last, for then the trouble began. 


CHAPTER VI. 


S O the 23d was the last fair day that they had on 
that short cruise. During the forenoon the 
wind held from nearly the same quarter — that is, 
northerly and westerly. 

The air was mild and pleasant ; the day, like the 
day before, seemed more like June than the middle 
of April. 

Toward noon, however, the wind shifted around 
to the southward and eastward, and the glass had a 
downward bearing. Tom saw, with a troubled 
feeling, that the weather began to take an ugly sort 
of a look. About nine o’clock Captain Knight gave 
orders to have the vessel’s course altered to nearly 
due south. 

At noon the observation showed their position to 
be about 35° 40' north, by 71® west, with Hatteras 
about 210 miles distant, W. by S. on the starboard 
beam. 

A little before eight bells, Captain Knight came 
up on deck again, and Tom, feeling anxious him- 
self, looked out of the corners of his eyes, to see 
'if he could gather what the captain thought of 
the situation. It seemed to Tom that he was not 

67 


68 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


quite easy in his mind. He cast his eyes aloft, and 
then looked around. He tpok a turn or two up 
and down the deck, and then looked at the glass, 
which, as had been said, was falling. Whatever he 
might have thought about the looks of things, he 
said nothing. Tom had half expected an order to 
shorten sail, but Captain Knight gave none such, 
and presently went to his cabin again. 

Shortly after noon the wind was blowing from 
the northeast. It became a great deal colder, and 
by four o’clock the sky was overcast by a gathering 
haze, which, at last, shut out the sun altogether. 

About this time they fell in with shifting banks 
of fog, blowing before the wind, the like of which 
Tom had never seen before. They seemed to drift 
in belts, and were no doubt raised by cold currents 
of air, for a chill could be felt the minute the ship 
would run into one of them. Every now and then 
the wind would sweep these banks away, rolling 
them up before it, and for a little while there would 
be a clear space around the ship for maybe a 
couple of miles or more. 

At that time they were under all plain sail to 
top gallant sails, and were booming along at a rate 
that could not have been less than ten knots. Tom 
thought that the Nancy Hazlewood might even 
have done better than she was then doing, were it 
not that she labored in a most unusual way for a 
vessel, in a wind no heavier than that in which she 
was then sailing. There is no doubt that this came 
from the heaviness of her spars as well as the ill 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


69 


stowage of her provisions and stores; still she was 
doing well, and any one could see with half an eye 
that it would be an uncommonly swift cruiser to 
whom the Nancy Hazlewood would not be able to 
show a clean pair of heels, if the need should arise 
for her doing so. 

It was a little before the middle of the first dog 
watch, when there happened one of the closest 
misses that Tom ever had of losing his life. 1 most 
firmly believe that if any one beside Jack Baldwin 
had been the officer of the deck, Tom Granger’s 
story would never have had to have been told. 

Jack was walking up and down on the poop in a 
restless sort of a way. It was plain that he was 
anxious at the fog, as well he might be. At one 
time the ship would be surging away across what 
seemed to be a lake, with dull banks of snow all 
around, at another she would plunge headforemost 
into whirling clouds of mist, so thick that the 
leaden sea alongside could barely be seen ; heaving 
as though it were something alive, and the fog was 
smothering it. 

Jack came to the break of the poop and looked 
over to where Tom was standing, on the deck 
below. His black hair and beard were covered 
with the dampness, so that he looked as though he 
had turned gray. 

“ Tom,” said he, “ I wish you’d slip foreward and 
see that those men are keeping a bright lookout 
ahead. Keep your weather eye lifted too, Tom, till 
we’re out of the worst of this infernally thick fog.” 


70 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


So Tom went foreward, as Jack had asked him 
to do, and found that the two men who had been 
placed there since they had run into the fog were 
keeping as sharp a lookout as could be wished for. 

Just as Tom climbed up on the forecastle, they 
surged out into a clear space, that was maybe two 
miles or two miles and a quarter from side to side. 

They had run pretty nearly across this stretch, 
and I recollect that Tom was just lighting his pipe 
under the lee of the foremast. As he raised his 
head and looked over the port bow, he saw a sight 
that made the blood stand still in his veins. 

It was a man-of-war in full sail^ looming up like a 
mountain. 

It came out of the fog so suddenly, that it 
seemed as though the mist had taken form from 
itself It was bearing straight down across the port 
bow of the Nancy Hazlewood^ plunging forward as 
solemnly as death. It could not have been more 
than six or seven ships* lengths distant, and the 
great sails bellying out like big clouds, shadowed 
over the Nancy Hazlewood as she might have 
shadowed over a fishing smack. 

Ten seconds more and she would have been 
down upon them, and would have crushed the little 
craft as though she had been made of paper. 
There was a moment of silence as great as though 
every man aboard of the Nancy Hazlewood had 
been turned to stone. I remember that Tom 
Granger stood with his newly-lighted pipe in his 
hand, never moving a hair, 


MTHIN THE CAPES. 7I 

The‘ silence was only for an instant, though, for 
the next moment a voice roared like a trumpet : 

“ Hard a starboard ! Let go, head sheets and 
lee head braces !” 

It was Jack Baldwin’s voice, and never did Tom 
hear it ring as it did at that moment. It not only 
was heard through the ship, but it pealed through 
it like a clap of thunder. Those below came 
tumbling up helter-skelter, and the captain came 
running out of his cabin, for there was a ring in 
Jack’s voice that told every man aboard of the ship 
that great danger was down upon them. It seemed 
to break the stillness around just as a stone dropped 
into a well might break the stillness below. In an 
instant the braces were flung from the belaying- 
pins, and the ship came up toward the wind without 
a second to lose. Before those aboard of the 
frigate had gathered their wits she had passed 
alongside, and so close that a child could easily 
have pitched a biscuit aboard of the Nancy Hazle- 
wood from the decks that loomed twenty feet above 
her. 

The whole thing was over in a dozen seconds, 
but those dozen seconds are stamped on Tom 
Granger’s mind as clearly as though they were 
chiseled in marble. Even now, though he is over 
eighty years old, he can see that great frigate rising 
higher and higher as she surges forward, towering 
over the little ship, while a hundred faces pop up 
above the rail and stare down upon her decks. It 
was only a moment — a thread of time — on which 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


hung the chance as to whether she would clear or 
not. There was a thunderous roar of the waters 
under the bow, flung back in an echo from the 
wooden walls of the frigate ; there was a vision of 
open ports rushing by, and of scared faces crowded 
at them, in spite of discipline ; then the frigate was 
astern and the danger gone past with her. But in 
that short moment of passing they saw enough to 
make them know that she was a British cruiser. 

I say again that if Jack Baldwin had not had the 
deck at that time there would never have been any 
story to tell of Tom Granger, for if Jack had hesi- 
tated only so much as two seconds, as I am afraid 
that Tom would have done in his case, the Nancy 
Hazlewood would have been run down just as sure 
as that there is a sun in the heavens. 

So the danger went by, and all was over in a 
quarter of the time that it takes to tell it. The 
head-yards were braced up, the head-sheets were 
gathered aft, the Naitcy Hazlewood stood away on 
her- course again, and the next moment plunged 
into the fog and was gone. 

But, in the meantime, they had wakened up 
aboard of the frigate, and just as the Nancy Hazle- 
wood ran into the bank they heard an order 
shouted aboard of the man-of-wa sounding faint 
because of the distance that th two vessels had 
now run : 

‘‘ Weather head, and main ; .e cro’ jack braces ! 

That meant that the frig e was about to wear, 
follow down in their wak^ and do that which she 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 73 

had so nearly missed doing a minute before — 
finish up the Yankee. 

Tom came aft, and, though he would have felt 
like knocking the man down that would have said 
so at the time, his hands were cold and trembling 
nervously. For the matter of that, Jack Baldwin’s 
face was whiter than it was used to be. “A close 
shave, sir,” said he to Captain Knight, who stood 
beside him ; but there was a nervous tremor in his 
voice in spite of the boldness that; he assumed. 
Indeed, the only perfectly cool man aboard was 
Captain Knight. He stood looking aft, as though 
he would pierce the fog and make out what the 
vessel astern of him was about. 

Presently he turned to Jack. “Did you not 
understand from that order that he was about to 
ware ship, Mr. Baldwin ? ” said he. 

“ I think that I understood them to give such an 
order, sir,” said Jack. 

Captain Knight drew out his snuff box and took 
a pinch of snuff. “ I understood it so,” said he, 
shutting the lid of the box with a snap and sliding it 
into his pocket again. He stood for about a couple 
of minutes looking, now up at the sails and now 
straight ahead ; presently he turned to Jack again. 

“ Bring her by the wind on the starboard tack, 
Mr. Baldwin,” said he. “We’ll slip out of this 
neighborhood on somewhat the same course that 
the Englishman held a few minutes ago, and leave 
him groping about here in this infernal blindness 
for us.” 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


94 

It seemed to Tom that Captain Knight had done 
a wise thing in taking the course that he did to get 
away from the Englishman. If the fog should lift, 
and they should find that the frigate had the 
weather gauge, they might get into a nasty pickle, 
whereas this course would give them the weather 
gauge and every chance to get away. 

After a while Captain Knight told Jack to set 
the fore-topmast stay sail, and then, after some 
hesitation, ta set the royals. It was quite plain 
that he had made up his mind to crack on sail, so 
as to gain as much to the windward of the frigate 
as he could. 

The Nancy Hazlewood was now sailing close- 
hauled, and was as pretty a sight as one could wish 
to see. The wind was blowing stiffly, as it had 
done for some time. It had not increased to any 
account, though the scud was beginning to fly 
across the sky, and there was every prospect of its 
blowing heavily before morning. So the Nancy 
Hazlcivood went bowling along on this wind, her 
bows every now and then flinging a roaring sea 
from her in an ocean of foam. She was careened 
over so that the sea eddied around the lee scuppers, 
and her copper bottom showed red in the green 
waters. On she went, bouncing from sea to sea, as 
a ball bounces when it is rolled across the ground. 
The top-gallant masts were bent like a bow, and 
the weather backstays were as taut as the bow- 
string, those on the lee bowing out gracefully before 
wir4f The doud of sails were bellied big and 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


75 


round, and were as hard as iron, and altogether, as 
was said, the Nancy Hazlewood was as pretty a 
sight as one could wish to see. 

About two bells in the first watch Captain Knight 
gave orders that the ship should be put about, and 
running two points free on the starboard tack, 
stood off to the S.E. 

This, as has been said, was one of the narrowest 
shaves that Tom Granger ever had for his life, and 
as long as he shall remember anything he will 
never forget that half-minute when the British 
frigate was coming down upon them under full sail, 
with death at the helm. 


CHAPTER VII. 


HE ivext morning, when Tom came upon deck, 



he found that the wind had increased to half 


a gale. It was a dreary sight. The sky was heavy 
and leaden, and the sea was like liquid lead, for, 
when the sky is dull, like it was that morning, it 
seems as though one could almost walk over the 
surface of the ocean, so hard does it look, and so 
lacking of depth, excepting where the crest of the 
wave sharpens just before it breaks. 

The Nancy Hazlewood showed that she was a 
very wet ship, for her decks were covered with 
water, that ran swashing from side to side. She 
would roll well over on her side, like a log, and 
scoop in the top of a wave, that would rush back- 
ward and forward across the deck until it had run 
out of the scupper holes ; but before it was fairly 
gone another sea would come, so that the decks 
were never free of water. Not only was the ship 
laboring strangely, but she was yawing so that two 
men at the wheel could hardly keep her to her 
course. 

Jack was standing on the poop, anxious and 
troubled. Tom stood beside him, but neither of 


76 


WITHIN TAB CAPES. // 

thrill spoke for a while, both being sunk in deep 
thought 

“ Toni,” said Jack, at last, in a low voice, Fve 
sailed in a many ships in my time, but I never saw 
one behave like this. She bothers me; I don't 
know what to make of her.” He paused for a 
moment, and then he clapped his hand to his thigh. 
” D — n it,” said he, “ she ain't either equipped or 
stowed in a fit way. She ought never ,to have put 
out from Lewes town Harbor in her condition, and, 
without I'm much mistaken, we’ll find that out 
long before we reach Key West.” 

Then he turned over the orders and went below 
to get his breakfast, leaving Tom in charge of the 
deck. 

The day passed without especial event, and that 
night at the mid-watch Tom turned in to get a little 
sleep. It seemed to him that he had hardly closed 
his eyes when he was aroused by the sound of the 
boatswain''s voice ringing, as it were, in his very 
ears : 

“ All hands reef topsails t ” 

Tom tumbled out of his bunk and stood on the 
cabin floor. There was a noise of pounding and 
grinding alongside, and the decks were careened, 
so that the first thought that occurred to him was 
that the ship was foundering. He ran up on deck 
without stopping a moment, for there was a vibra- 
tion in the boatswain’s voice that told him that 
something serious had befallen. 

The gale had increased with a sudden and heavy 


WITHIN THE CAPES 


78 

squall, and the maintop-gallant-mast had gone by 
the board. It was hanging alongside, a tangled 
wreck, and it was the thumping and grinding of 
this that Tom had heard when he had first opened 
his eyes. A dozen men were at work cutting away 
the wreck, and Tom jumped to help them. At 
last it drifted away astern, a tangled mass on the 
surface of grey foam. 

All around them were seas, ten or fifteen feet 
high, shining with phosphorescent crests, moving 
solemnly forward with their black weight of thous 
ands of tons of solid water. Amongst these the 
little ship labored like a living thing in pain. The 
men ran up aloft, and Jack, trumpet to mouth, 
bellowed orders that rang above all the thunder of 
the gale. Presently the sails were clapping and 
thundering in the darkness above, as the men 
wrestled with them. Now and then voices were to 
be heard through all the roaring of the waters and 
the howling of the wind : “ Haul out to windward ! ” 
and “ Light out to leeward !” — an uproar of noises 
that one never hears excepting on shipboard, and 
at such a time. 

Day broke with the storm blowing as furiously 
as ever. Tom was officer of the deck, when, about 
f ten o’clock. Maul, the carpenter, came aft to where 
he was standing. He was a fine-looking fellow, 
broad-shouldered and deep-chested. He chucked 
his thumb up to his forehead, and, shifting the quid 
of tobacco from one cheek to the other, told Tom 
that which sent a thrill shivering through him : 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


79 


** Ten inches of water in the well, sir.” 

The pumps sucked at five inches, so the Nancy 
Hazlewood had made five inches of water in the 
last hour. 

“ I was afraid it would come,” said Tom to him- 
self, and then he went and reported it to the 
captain, for, though the leak was not of much 
account as regarded size, it was as dangerous as it 
was sudden. 

Man the pumps, sir,” was all that the captain 
said. 

Before very long the pumps sucked, and the men 
gave a cheer. So far all was well enough. But an 
hour afterward the carpenter came aft and reported 
that there was a little less than thirteen inches of 
water in the well. * Captain Knight, and Tom, and 
Jack were standing near together on the poop at 
the time. 

“ Man the pumps,” was all that the captain said, 
and then he moved away. 

^‘Jack,” said Tom, in a low" .voice, ^*this looks 
ugly.” 

“ YouVe right ; it does,” said Jack. 

There was a cold, dull rain blowing slantwise 
across the ocean at that time, which shut in every- 
thing to wnthin a mile or two of the ship. The 
gale had moderated but little, but now, through all 
the roaring, you could hear the regular thump, 
thump of the pumps, where two lines of men were 
working at the brakes. Every now and then the 
sound of the pumping would stop with the sucking 


80 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


of water, but presently it would begin again— 
thump ! thump ! thump ! thump ! When evening 
came the sound was unceasing, for at that time 
they were not pumping the water out of the ship as 
fast as she was making it. 

The last thing that Tom heard that night was 
the continuous thumping, and it was the first thing 
that met his ears when he opened his eyes again. 
He went up on deck, and when he looked around 
him his heart fell within him. Half of the maintop- 
sail was blown away, the shreds standing straight 
out with the force of the wind. There was a great 
deal of water on the deck — ^perhaps never less than 
three feet on the lee side. 

She was not taking much water over the weather 
rail, but she would take it to leeward, and then roll 
to windward, and the sea would go rushing across 
the deck, carrying everything before it. 

That afternoon he stood on the poop deck 
looking over the side of the vessel. She was 
rolling with a dull, .heavy motion from side to side; 
it was just such a motion as a log in a mill pond 
will take if you give it a push with your foot. He 
looked first astern, and then forward, and he saw 
that the stern was deeper in the water than the 
bows. Just then he felt a hand on his shoulder; 
he looked up and saw that it was Jack Baldwin. 

“Tom,” said he, in a low voice. 

“ What is it. Jack ?” 

“IVe been looking too; do you know that the 
ship's foundering ?” 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 8l 

Tom nodded his head, for he did not feel like 
speaking. 

“Tom,” said Jack, after a moment of silence; 
“ what do you suppose is the reason that Captain 
Knight don’t give orders to have the boats cleared 
away, ready for lowering.” 

“Perhaps he don’t think it’s time; the ship’ll 
last a good while longer yet, Jack.” 

“ Do you think that’s his reason, Tom ?” said Jack. 

Tom did not answer. 

“I see you don’t Look here, Tom; do you 
want to know what I’m beginning to think ? It’s 
this, — t/iat he don't intend to let a man leave this 
ship, if he can't bring her to Key West! " 

“ For God’s sake, don’t breathe a word of that in 
the men’s hearing. Jack. You can’t believe what 
you say.” 

“What did Captain Sedgwick do last November?” 

Tom did not answer; he knew that story only 
too well. Captain Sedgwick, of the privateersman 
Mirabel, had fallen in with a British cruiser off 
Barnegat ; had been crippled by her, and had blown 
up his ship and all hands on board, so that she 
might not fall into the Englishman’s hands. Three 
men out of one hundred and eighteen had come off 
with their lives. 

“ For heaven’s sake. Jack, don’t breathe a word 
of this to*the crew!” said Tom again, and then he 
turned away. 

As the day wore along, things looked more and 
more gloomy. 


6 


WlTHm THE CAPES. 


S2 

About three o’clock in the afternoon a sound fell 
on their ears, that thrilled through every man on 
board. It was the voice of the lookout, roaring, — 
“Sail ho!” 

“Where away?” sang out Jack. 

“Two points on the port bow,” came the answer. 

Most of the crew ran to the side of the vessel, as 
did the men at the brakes. Tom did not order 
them back, for he saw that there would be no use 
in doing so. 

As the day had worn along, the discipline of the 
ship had begun to go pretty much to pieces, and 
there had been great difficulty in keeping the men 
at the brakes. I think that they, like Jack and 
Tom, had gotten a notion that the ship was 
doomed, for, though they worked when they were 
ordered, it was in a dull, stolid way, as though they 
had no interest in it one way or another. Tom 
had tried to do all that lay in him to keep them 
going, and I think that it was only through his 
urging that they were kept at it at all. 

So now they all left the pumps and ran to the 
side of the vessel to get a look at the sail. 

At first it was seen like a flickering speck in the 
dull, grey distance, but it presently rose higher and 
higher as the Nancy Hazlewood held on her course. 
Jack Baldwin was on the poop when the vessel was 
first sighted ; he did not lose a momenf, but went 
straightway and reported it to the captain, who 
presently came upon deck from his cabin. He had 
wound a red scarf about his waist, and had thrust 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


83 


a brace of large pistols in it. There was an odd 
look about him, that at first led Tom to think that 
he had been drinking, but he soon found that 
he was wrong. Whatever it was that had led 
him to rig himself up in this style, it was not 
drink. 

He stood silently with the glass at his eye, 
looking at the distant sail that the Nmtcy Hazlewood 
was slowly raising above the horizon. He did not 
seem to notice that the men had left the pumps : at 
least he made no remark upon it. Minute after 
minute passed, until at last the hull of the vessel 
hove in sight and showed her to be a large barque — • 
apparently, from the cut of her sails, an English 
merchantman. She came within about three miles 
of them, but Captain Knight neither gave orders to 
have the course of the Hazlewood altered, or signals 
of distress run up. Every moment Tom expected 
to hear such an order, but none passed the captain’s 
lips. Presently, he shut the tube of the glass 
sharply, and then he spoke. 

“ She’s too large for us to tackle in our present 
condition,” said he. 

“Tackle!” burst out Jack. “My G — d! You 
didn’t think of fighti7tg that vessel, did you ? ” 

Captain Knight turned sharply upon him, as 
though he were about to say something; but he 
seemed to think better of it, for he swung on his 
heel, as though to enter his cabin again. 

Then Jack Baldwin strode directly up to him. 
Captain Knight,” said he, and he did not so much 


S4 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


as touch his hat, “ a’n’t you going to signal that 
vessel ? 

His voice rang like a bell, and every man aboard 
of the sinking ship heard it, and listened eagerly for 
the captain's answer. Captain Knight stood where 
he was, and looked Jack from top to toe, and back 
again. 

No, sir,” said he, coldly, I am not going to 
signal that vessel.” 

Do you mean to say that you’re going to 
drown every man aboard this ship, as you might a 
cage full of rats, just because you’re too proud to 
signal an Englishman.” 

Captain Knight made no answer; he only looked 
at Jack and smiled, and Tom Granger thought that 
it was as wicked a smile as he had ever seen in all 
of his life. 

“ Now, by the eternal,” roared Jack, ‘‘ I’ll run the 
signals up myself! ” 

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” said Captain 
Knight. He spoke very quietly, but his face was 
as white as the other’s was red. 

“ Won’t I ? That you’ll see,” said Jack, passion- 
ately, and he made a movement to turn. 

“ Wait a moment, sir,” said the captain, in his 
quiet voice. But the words were hardly out of his 
mouth, when, as quick as a flash, a pistol was 
leveled at Jack’s head, with a pair of wicked grey 
eyes behind it. 

There was a dead pause for about as long as you 
could count ten; the captain’s finger lay on the 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 85 

trigger, and every instant Tom expected to see the 
flash that was to come. He held his breath, for 
there was death in the captain’s eyes, but he did 
not draw the trigger. 

It was Tom that broke the silence. “ For 'God’s 
sake, don’t shoot, captain,” cried he, from where he 
stood. The captain did not seem to hear him. 

“You mutinous scoundrel,” said he at last, 
“ down on your knees and ask pardon ! ” 

Jack did not move. 

“You hear me? Down on your knees and ask 
pardon, or you’re a dead man!” 

He spoke as quietly as ever, but there was a 
deadly ring in his voice for all that. 

“ I’ll give you till I count three,” said he, at last, 
and then he began to count, “ one, — two — ” 

Jack looked around, with despair in his eyes. 
The captain smiled. “ Stand where you are,” said 
he, and then his teeth and tongue began to form 
the “ th — ” 

Jack Baldwin was no coward; but would you 
yourself have stood still and be shot down like a 
dog ? It would have been a brave man indeed — a 
foolishly brave man — that would have done such a 
thing. I will not tell the rest. It is enough to say 
that Jack did do that which the captain ordered 
him, and that before the whole ship’s company. 

“ You are wise,” said Captain Knight, dryly, and 
then he thrust the pistol back again into his belt, 
and, turning on his heel, went into his cabin. 

Jack got up slowly from his knees. His face 


86 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


was haggard and drawn. He looked at no one, but 
went to the side of the ship and stood gazing into 
the water. Tom saw him a half an hour after- 
ward, standing just in the same way, and in the 
same place. 

When the captain had gone into his cabin, Tom 

turned to the pumps again. “ Shake her up ! 

your eyes ! Shake her up ! ” roared he. 

It was the first time that he ever used an oath to 
the men under him, and it is hard to tell why he 
used it then, for in his heart he did not believe that 
he was long for this life. Then the men fell to 
pumping again, but what little life they had left was 
all gone out of them now. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


T hat evening Tom took a scrambling meal in 
the cuddy; it was the last that he had aboard 
of the Nancy Hazlewood. 

The darkness came on early, and the v/ind still 
held as heavy as ever when night fell. At that 
time the ship was very low in the water astern, and 
Tom did not expect her to live till morning. Even 
to this day it is a mystery to him why she did not 
founder long before she did. 

It was plain that even the sailors themselves felt 
that there was no hope; they were dull, lifeless and 
spiritless. Those who were not working at the 
pumps, stood around the forecastle, or lay in their 
hammocks ; all were quiet, excepting where one or 
two were talking together in low tones. 

Of course there was no sleep to be had for Tom 
that night. He had stood by the pumps since 
early in the morning, and was nearly exhausted, 
for there were times when he could feel the water 
washing around his waist. One after another the 
men would drop the brakes, altogether done up, 
but there was no chance for him to leave his station 
and get a little rest. Jack had done nothing since 

8 ; 


88 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


his encounter with Captain Knight, the afternoon 
before. Captain Knight himself did not come out 
of his cabin, so Tom seemed to be the only officer 
in charge of the ship. 

‘ Shake her up, lads! Shake her up!” cried he, 
whenever there were signs of flagging at the 
pumps, and he repeated these words so often that 
he began to say them mechanically. 

So the weary night dragged slowly along, and at 
last the dull light of the morning came, and the 
Nancy Hazlewood was still afloat. One by one the 
things stood out in the pallid light of the dawning ; 
first of all the black troubled field of water was 
seen, sharply marked against the slowly greying 
sky; then came a faint light across the flooded 
deck, against which the men stood out as black as 
ink, as they worked at the pumps. 

About eight o’clock in the morning Captain 
Knight came upon deck again. He, Jack Baldwin, 
Mr. Wilde (the surgeon), the boatswain and one or 
two of the men were standing on the poop together. 
No attention was paid to these men standing aft the 
quarter deck, and Tom could not see that any 
orders were given, for the helm was lashed, keeping 
the vessel before the wind. 

Tom left the pumps for a minute or two, and 
slipped into the cuddy for a dram of rum, which 
he very much needed. He found that the cuddy 
was awash with several inches of water. He took 
the dram of rum, and then looking around his 
state room he saw his sea-chest, and opened it and 


WITHtN THE CAPES, 


took out his watch and purse. He slipped the 
watch into his pocket, but the ship giving a sudden 
lurch at the time, he dropped his purse. He 
smiled when he found himself groping in the 
swashing water for it, for he could not take it with 
him where he expected that he would have to go. 

The men had left the pumps when he came upon 
deck again. A crowd of them were standing fore- 
ward, some on the top-gallant forecastle. There 
was no drunkenness amongst them, and Tom found 
later that the spirit-room had been fastened securely, 
and in good time, which was about the only timely 
thing that was done in the whole business. He 
did not order them to work again, for there could 
be no use in it. Indeed, there had been but little 
use in it for some time past, and the only reason 
that he had kept the pumps going was because it 
seemed better to be doing something than to stand 
still, waiting for death. But Captain Knight gave 
no orders to lower the boats, and Jack Baldwin did 
not seem to care whether they were lowered or not. 

At this time there were only two boats left. The 
whale-boat had been stove in the night before, and 
all of the cutters were gone but one. A part of 
one of them was hanging by the stern falls from the 
davits. The mate to it was good, however, and, 
with a pinnace, capable of holding maybe thirty 
men at a pinch, was all that was left of the six 
boats that the Nancy Hazlewood had carried with 
her when she first started on her cruise. 

Tom saw that there was no prospect of Captain 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


90 

Knight’s giving the order to have the boats cleared 
away, so he went aft to the poop, where the captain 
stood, and touched his hat to him very respectfully. 

Captain Knight,” said he, “ the ship’s sinking, 
and I can’t keep the men at their work any longer. 
Shall I get the boats cleared away ? ” 

“ They won’t work, you say ? ” 

No, sir.” 

The captain took a pinch of snuff. Then let 
’em drown, and be d — d to ’em — the mutinous 
dogs,” said he. And he shut the snuff-box lid with 
a snap. 

“ But, captain — ” began Tom. 

“ Mr. Granger,” said the captain, sternly, “I wish 
to hear no more. When I want to have the boats 
lowered I’ll give the orders, and not till then. You 
hear me ?” 

Tom turned away, sick at heart. He still hoped 
that the captain meant to have the boats cleared 
away, but in his heart he felt that he intended 
nothing of the kind. The men had gathered aft 
when they saw that Tom was talking to the captain. 
When they heard what came of it, a deep groan 
arose from them. 

About half an hour passed, and nothing was 
done. At the end of that time a number of men 
who had been talking together, went over to the 
pinnace and began clearing it away, and Tom saw 
that they were about to lower it. 

Nothing was said to them at the time, and no 

one interfered with them. He went forward to 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


91 


where they were at work, after a while, for he felt 
that he might be of some use to them. The boats- 
wain was amongst them, and he asked him to join 
them, as they needed an officer. But Tom shook 
his head, for he could not bring himself to leave the 
ship. It was false pride on his part, for he should 
have gone and have done what he could. If Jack 
Baldwin would only have lent a hand with the 
other boat, he would not have hesitated, I think. 

Well, it was a misfortunate piece of business, 
and there is no use in making more of it than need 
be. The boat was lowered safely enough ; but, in 
spite of all that Tom could do, a number of the 
crew, maybe thirty or more, jumped into her from 
the ship, and she was swamped almost immediately. 
Most of the men came climbing back again; but, 
to the best of Tom’s recollection, eight or ten of 
them were drowned at this time. No one but he 
seemed to care very much for this ; no doubt they 
felt that it was only a question of a few minutes, 
earlier or later. 

When Tom went back to the poop. Captain 
Knight met him with a sneering smile. “ You had 
better have let the matter alone, Mr. Granger,” 
said he ; ” their blood be on your head.” 

Now, Tom had put all the restraint upon himself 
that he could. He had felt all the blunders and 
mismanagement that had brought them to this pass 
as deeply as ever Jack Baldwin could have done, 
and had also felt that most of the fault lay at 
Captain Knight’s door, but he had never been any- 


02 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


thing but respectful to the captain, nor had he ever 
let a questionable word pass his lips. But now, 
feeling the loss of the poor devils that had been 
drowned in the pinnace resting heavily on his mind, 
this speech was too much for his patience. He 
walked straight up to Captain Knight and looked 
him squarely in the eyes. 

The captain looked back at him for a little while, 
but presently his eyes wavered, and he turned them 
aside. Then it was that a certain vague thought 
that had been floating about in Tom's mind, took 
shape and form. At first he rejected the thought, 
but the longer he looked upon Captain Knight the 
more he felt sure that his surmise was right. At 
last he spoke : 

“ Look here, sir,’* said he, sternly, ** you’re not fit 
to be where you are. You’re not in your right 
mind — you’re crazy.” 

Captain Knight looked up. His face was white 
and his eyes uncertain, and, for the first time, Tom 
noticed how bloodshot they were. Tom was stand- 
ing within arm’s length of him, and presently he saw 
that his fingers were sliding furtively toward the 
pistol in his belt. Tom kept his eyes fixed upon him. 

“Take care,” said he, as quietly as he could, 
“ don’t touch that pistol.” 

Then Captain Knight drew his fingers away. 
“You mutinous scoundrel!” whispered he, in a 
trembling voice. But he did not look directly at 
Tom when he spoke ; neither did he again attempt 
to draw a pistoL 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


93 


Tom stood looking at him without a word for 
maybe half a minute. He felt that if he turned his 
eyes away for so much as a second, he was a dead 
man. So he stood without moving. At last he 
spoke again : 

“ Captain Knight, give me that pistol.” 

The captain looked from side to side. 

“ Captain Knight, give me that pistol,” he re- 
peated, and very sternly. He held out his left hand 
as he spoke. His right was clenched, and if the 
captain had made a dangerous movement, he would 
have smitten him down where he stood. Captain 
Knight looked up for an instant. He must have 
seen the resolve in Tom’s face, for he slowly drew 
out the pistol and put it into his hand. 

“ Now give me the other,” said Tom. And once 
more the captain did as he was bidden. Tom went 
to the side of the ship and threw both pistols over- 
board. When he turned around the captain had 
gone into his cabin. Tom never saw him again. 

It was not till all was over that he felt what he 
had passed through. So long as he had faced the 
captain his purpose had kept him braced to what 
he was doing, but now his hands were cold and 
trembling nervously. 

All of the ship’s crew had been looking on at 
what had passed, so he tried to appear as cool as 
though nothing of any account had happened. He 
went up to where Jack Baldwin was standing. 
“ Jack,” said he (but his voice trembled a little in 
spite of himself), '‘you’re the chief officer now. 


94 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


For the Lord’s sake, give orders to get the cutter 
cleared away, for there’s no time to lose.” 

“ I’ll give orders when I choose,” said Jack, 
roughly, and he swung on his heel and strode away. 

Tom was struck all aback, for he could not think 
at first what he had done to touch Jack’s feelings. 
Presently Jack came back to him again. He 
stopped close in front of him, and folded his arms. 

“ Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said he, “ I suppose 
you think that because you got the better of that 
d — d sea dandy, you can get the better of me. You 
needn’t think that you’re the cock-of-the-walk be- 
cause you took the barkers away from him. I 
could have done it easy enough, if he hadn’t taken 
me unawares. I’ll not deny that you did get the 
better of him, but I want you to understand that 
your not to lord it over me on that account. I’m 
the chief officer here, and I’ll give my orders to you, 
and not take them from you. So put that in your 
pipe and smoke it.” Then he turned on his heel 
again and walked away. 

But Tom had caught some insight into Jack’s 
mind, and he could not but feel a certain contempt 
for him, for this was no time for little jealousies and 
heart-burnings. He did not say anything to Jack, 
for there could be no use in answering such a 
speech, so he walked to the mizzen-mast without a 
word, and stood leaning against it, looking ahead. 
All of a sudden Jack went stumbling down the 
ladder from the poop, and forward amongst the 
men. Tom saw him a little while afterward, talk- 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


95 


ing to the boatswain, and then he knew that he 
was thinking of lowering the cutter. He was glad 
that Jack had so far swallowed his ugly pride, for 
it was a pity that all of the men aboard of the ship 
should drown, when some of them might get safely 
away. 

I say that he was glad, but there was a bitter 
feeling, too, when he thought of others being 
saved, while he was to be left to drown like a rat in 
a box. His pride would not let him run away from 
the ship to take his chance in the cutter, but, all 
the same, his thoughts were very bitter. About 
this time he saw that those of the crew not at work 
about the cutter were throwing many loose things 
overboard. He saw the side of a hen-coop near to 
the ship ; “ 1 shall keep close to something of that 
kind when she goes down,” said he to himself. 
They were a good hundred miles from land, but 
the thought did not seem as foolish to him then as 
it does now, for a man clings to his life as long as 
he is able. 

Presently, Jack Baldwin came aft. He went to 
the lashings of the wheel and put the helm over, so 
as to give the cutter a lee, but he never looked at 
Tom for a moment. Just as he was about to leave 
the poop, however, he turned suddenly, and came 
straight across the deck to him. 

“Tom,” said he, gruffly ; “will you take a try in 
the cutter ? ” 

“ Not I,” said Tom. 

“Why not?’* 


96 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


“ One officer’s enough for the boat ; it would be 
cowardly for me to go ! ” He spoke bravely 
enough, but I am compelled to own that his 
courage was only of words, and not of heart. 

“Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said Jack, fiercely; 
“ do you mean to say that I’m a coward ?” 

“I mean to say nothing about you,” said Tom, 
calmly; “you know your own reasons for leaving 
the ship better than any other man. If you’re 
going for the sake of the crew, you’re no coward ; 
if you’re going for Ihe sake of your own skin, you 
are.” 

Jack looked him ver}^ hard in the face for a 
moment or two. “ See here, Tom,” said he, at 
last; “you know the old saying; — ‘each man for 
himself, and the devil take the hindmost ; ’ don’t be 
a fool ; go with us, you’re a better hand at managing 
a boat than I am.” 

“ I don’t care to go.” 

“Very well, my hearty; suit yourself,” was all 
that Jack said, and he swung on his heel, and left 
the poop. 

Tom saw him a little later standing beside the 
cutter with a heavy iron belaying pin in his hand, 
so as to keep the men from crowding into the boat. 
The men had a great notion of Jack’s strength, and 
maybe it was this that kept them back, for Tom 
saw no movement in that direction. 

About five or ten minutes before the cutter was 
lowered, and about iiaif-past ten or eleven o’clock 
iu the morning of Thursday, the 26th, the ship was 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 97 

slowly settling by the stern. Any one could see 
that there was a great change in the last half of an 
hour, and Tom began to be afraid that she would 
founder before they could get the boat away. He 
went forward to where Jack and the men were 
busy at work. 

“If you don’t lower away pretty soon, it’ll be too 
late, Jack,” said he. 

“Tom,” said Jack, turning to him, suddenly, 
“don’t be a bull-headed loon in such a matter as 
this. Come, and take your chance like a man; 
there’s a place in the cutter yet, for I’ve taken care 
to save it for you.” 

Poor Tom was only a mortal man, and his life 
was very sweet to him at that moment, when there 
seemed so great a chance of his losing it. There- 
fore, he could not screw the words of refusal from 
his lips; — he could only shake his head. 

“You won’t come?” said Jack. 

“No!” roared Tom; “didn’t you hear me say 
no ? Are you deaf ? No ! I tell you ; no 1 no 11 ” 

“Now, by the eternal, you shall go, and that 
whether you want to or not I” said Jack, and as he 
spoke, he flung his arms around Tom, and under- 
took to drag him into the boat. Jack had never 
measured his strength with Tom before, and it is 
altogether likely that he found him to be stronger 
than he had any notion of, for, after struggling 
with him for a little while, and not being able to 
throw him down upon the deck, he presently began 
singing out to the boatswain to come and lend him 

7 


Wl fHl]^ THE CAPES. 


98 

a hand, as there was no time to lose. So the 
boatswain came, and in a short time they had 
lashed Tom’s arms and legs so that he could not 
move. As soon as they had done this, they 
heaved him heels over head into the cutter, and 
then stepped in themselves, and all hands lowered 
away immediately. 

As soon as the boat was in the water, it began 
drawing under the channel of the ship, and was in 
great peril of being stove, but the boatswain and 
two others got out oars, and shoved her off. But 
no sooner had they pushed the cutter away, than 
she began drawing in again, for there was a suction 
that was bringing her right under the stern, which 
would have been sudden death to every man in 
her, so they brought the oars to bear once more. 
At that time the crew of the cutter seemed more 
afraid of being drawn under the stern of the ship 
than of too many men jumping into the boat; for 
the matter of that, Tom saw only one attempt to 
keep any of the crew from boarding, and that was 
just after the boat had been lowered into the water. 

A poor fellow attempted to slide down the falls 
from the davits, but the boatswain pushed them to 
one side, so that he would have fallen into the water 
if he had tried to jump. It seemed to Tom to be a 
horrible thing to cut away the last chance that the 
poor man had for saving his life ; he begged hard 
for him as he hung from the davits, but the boats- 
wain said that the cutter was already full, and that 
even one man might be enough to swamp her. I 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


99 


suppose that the boatswain must have acted 
according to his light, but Jack Baldwin, who sat 
looking on without speaking, should have seen 
that the man was taken aboard. 

The second time that the boat was pushed away, 
its head came around, and they were soon pulling 
from the port side of the ship. 

When those aboard of the Nancy Hazlcivood saw 
that the cutter was clear, and was likely to get 
away, they cheered and waved their hands. I can 
hardly bear to write of this, even now; — it made 
Tom Granger cry like a child. 

The boatswain sat next to him where he lay. 
He chewed hard at the quid of tobacco in his 
mouth, as, lying on his oars, he looked back at the 
sinking ship, and at his messmates standing on her 
decks. I think, from what some of the sailors 
afterward said, that they would have been willing 
to put back to the ship, and have taken off a parcel 
more of the crew, but nothing of the kind was 
done. 

So every one lay on his oars and looked back ; 
just then the sun shone out, pale and wateiy. Tom 
could see the vessel very easily from where he lay. 
The fore-top sail was still standing, and also half of 
the main-top sail. The yards on the mizzen were 
swinging about with the braces loose, and her 
bulwarks were as sound as when she left the docks. 
Her stern was low in the water, and her bow was 
standing so high that her r^d copper bottom coul4 
be plainly seen? 


lOO WITHIN THE CAPES. 

Soon they ran down into the trough of a sea, 
and the Nancy Hazlewood was hidden from sight ; 
when they came up again, she had changed her 
position. They could not see the after-part of the 
vessel, though it might have been hidden by a sea, 
and not under water. By the pitch of her masts 
the ship seemed to be sitting at an angle of about 
forty -five degrees. Just then another sea came, 
and again they ran down in the trough of it; — 
when they came up the Nayicy Hazlewood was 
nowhere to be seen. 


CHAPTER IX. 

F or a time no one in the cutter moved or said 
a word. I remember that the boatswain 
cnewed at his quid of tobacco as though he was 
starving ; but he did not speak a word. 

It was Jack Baldwin’s voice that broke the 
silence. 

“ The old ship’s gone, boys,” roared he. “ We 
can’t do her any good, so drop her, and mind what 
you’re about, or you’ll be with her before you know 
it.” And he was right, for the cutter was heavily 
loaded, there being nineteen aboard of her — the 
right number of her crew was twelve. 

I am bound to say, that I believe if any one of 
the crew of the Nancy Hadeivood had been seen 
clinging to the loose gear that was floating about 
the place where the ship foundered they would 
have been taken into the cutter ; but no one was 
.seen, nor was it likely that a man could keep afloat 
for any length of time, for the spray was flying. 

Such was the loss of the good ship Nancy Hadc- 
wood, the story of which I have tried to tell you 
just as it happened, adding nothing and keeping 
nothing back that might give you a clear idea of 

lOI 


102 WITHIN THE CAPES, 

how she foundered on that Thursday, the 26th of 
April, 1813. 

It was judged that she went down in latitude 
27° North, by longitude 77® West, and about one 
hundred or one hundred and ten miles north of the 
Little Bahama Banks. 

The cutter was a fine, light boat, about twenty- 
five feet in length, by six feet in breadth at the 
widest part — a small craft to carry nineteen souls 
one hundred miles through a stormy sea. 

Ten minutes after the Nancy Hazlewood foun- 
dered the crew of the cutter were pulling away to 
the southward. After a little while Tom looked 
up and saw that Jack Baldwin was gazing very 
earnestly at him. 

“ Tom,” said he, suddenly, “ if I loose the lash- 
ings on your arms and legs, will you promise to be 
quiet, and do your fair share of work ? ” 

Tom’s cheeks were still wet, and he was shaken 
every now and then by a sob. I hope that you 
who read this will not think him overly womanish, 
but will give a thought as to how broken he was 
with fatigue, and with the hardships through which 
he had passed. I can say that none of the crew of 
the cutter seemed to think lightly of him on ac- 
count of it, and even Jack Baldwin’s voice was kind 
as he spoke. 

I have always found that when men are strongly 
moved they are apt to be very unreasonable. So it 
was with Tom, for he felt very bitterly toward Jack 
at that moment, as though Jaok were to blame fo|* 


Wimm THE CAPES. 


the trouble that had fallen upon them. However, 
nothing could be gained by staying tied as he was, 
so he presently said: 

“You may untie m.e, if you like. The Lord 
knows that I don’t care much for my life just now, 
but there’s no use letting all these poor fellows 
drown like the rest.” 

“Is that all the thanks I get for saving your 
life?” said Jack Baldwin. “Never mind; you’ll 
give me more thanks when your feet are safe on 
dry land. Untie him, bo’sen, for he’ll have to take 
his hand at the oars, along with the rest.” 

The first thing that was done was to divide the 
boat’s crew into parties, each of which were to row 
by spells. Two of the men not rowing were to 
keep a lookout ahead, in case any vessel might 
heave in sight. The rest were to bail out the boat, 
for it was needful to keep bailing nearly all the 
time. In most cases it might have been safer to 
have tried to ride out the storm, and to have run 
the chance of being picked up by some passing 
vessel ; but there were certain things to be con- 
sidered in the case of those in the cutter. Their 
provisions and water were none too plenty, and 
there was little chance of being picked up, as so 
few vessels were sailing in those waters, excepting 
in fleets and under convoy. 

A landsman would have been puzzled to know 
how a boat as small as the cutter could ever hope 
to live in a sea such as that was. It was, indeed, 
no small matter to run her safely, and Jack, who 


104 


JFITHiN THE CAPES, 


was at the tiller, had to keep his weather eye lifting, 
I can tell you. 

One of the crew kept a constant lookout over 
the stern, to see when a wave with a crest was 
coming, and to warn the man at the tiller of it, for 
these were the seas that brought danger with them. 
At one time all hands would back water, so as to 
let such a one break in front of them. At another 
time they would pull all, so as to get out of the 
way until the force of the broken sea was spent. 
Sometimes one of these following seas would fling 
the cutter high aloft on its crest, carrying it along 
like an eggshell, for a little distance, and giving 
them a dash as it went by that would set them all 
bailing for dear life. 

Of course, it was needful to let each sea meet 
them fairly astern, for if the boat should broach too, 
she would be swamped or capsized as quick as 
a wink. As soon as one sea would pass them 
another would come. Perhaps it would be a cross 
sea, which, of course, was the kind that they 
dreaded the most of all. Sometimes the helm of 
the cutter could not bring her around quickly 
enough, or, maybe, just then her rudder would be 
clear of the water. Then Jack Baldwin would sing 
out in his mighty voice : 

“ Give way starboard ! Back port ! ” or Give 
way port ! back starboard ! ” 

The next moment, perhaps, another green sea 
would be seen rushing at them,^ and Jack would 
shoutj 


WITHIN THE CAPES. IO5 

“ Give way together ! ” 

Then there would be a thunder and a roar 
behind them, and the seething of white foam would 
hiss alongside of the gunwale, and as it rolled past 
Jack’s voice would ring out : 

“ Back, back all!” 

There were times when all four of these orders 
would be given inside the space of a minute. 
This is what they went through for nearly two 
days, so it may perhaps give you a notion of what 
they had to do to keep the boat alive for that time, 
and what a sea it was to keep her alive in. 

They had in the way of provisions about seventy- 
five pounds of hard-tack and two small breakers of 
water. They presently found that the water in one 
of the breakers was mixed with salt, so they heaved 
it overboard at once to make more room, as they 
were very much crowded. 

So the afternoon wore along, and at last evening 
began to settle down over them. 

Any one but a seaman might have wondered 
how the boat was to be kept afloat at night, when 
it was only by such unending care that she was 
kept alive in the daytime. But as darkness settled 
the crest of each wave glimmered with a pale phos- 
phorescence that not only showed its position, but 
the course in which it was traveling. Nevertheless, 
it was an awful night, one of the most awful that 
Tom Granger has ever passed through. Above the 
ceaseless din and thunder of the roaring water Jack 
Baldwin’s voice could be heard singing out his 


106 WITHIN THE CAPES. 

orders to the oarsmen, and now . and then to the 
others : 

“ Bale her out smartly, lads ! Keep her dr}^ ! 
Who’s bailing there ? Lively now ! ” 

Tom had turned to, and was bailing a great part 
of the time. He had been pulling an oar in the 
afternoon for every one had to take his turn; i.nd 
so, what with weariness and cold and want of 
sleep, he was nearly done up. He managed to joke 
and laugh with the men, as though all that they 
were passing through was nothing to speak of ; but 
for all that he would find himself half asleep at 
times, though he was still dipping out the water. 
When in this state he always had one thing before 
his eyeballs ; it was a ship, her stern under water 
and her bows standing so high that she showed 
her copper bottom. Her maintop-gallant-mast was 
gone, and her fore-sail was shaking in the wind — 
it was the Nancy Hazlev'ood as he had last seen 
her. 

It was the same all that night; whenever he 
would shut his eyes, even if it were only for a 
moment, he would see that sinking ship and the 
troubled waters around her. 

About four o’clock in the morning Jack gave up 
the tiller to Tom Granger. Tom felt very sorry for 
him, for he seemed harassed and worn. He him- 
self was pretty well tired out, as I have said, for he 
had only had about two hours sleep for over three 
days. Nevertheless, he took the tiller, for Jack 
seemed more done up than he. Tom held the 


WITHIN THE CAPES. lO/ 

tiller for the rest of that day, and for most of the 
next night. 

Early in the day it was found that the water had 
given out, so they heaved that breaker overboard 
also. There was a great mistake somewhere in the 
matter of this water. Either the allowance for 
each man was wrong, or there was not as much in 
the breaker as had been supposed. They had 
counted on its lasting eighteen hours longer than it 
did, and the lack of it proved to be one of the 
greatest causes of their suffering. 

The next morning the sun shone out, though 
the weather was squally, and the sea as heavy as 
ever. By that time they were suffering more from 
thirst than from anything else. Tom pitied the 
poor men from the bottom of his heart. The 
boatswain, v/ho sat nearest him, kept clearing his 
throat, as though he could get rid of the dryness 
and the pain in that way. 

As the sharpness of their thirst increased, the 
men showed that there was not the friendly feeling 
between them that there had been at first. They 
were surly, would speak sharply to one another, 
and were sullen when spoken to by Jack or Tom. 
About nine o’clock one of the men on the lookout 
sang out all of a sudden : 

“ Land over the port bow ! ” 

Jack had the tiller again at this time, and it was 
all that Tom could do to keep the men from stands 
ing up in the boat. If they had done so, they 
would have capsized her, in all likelihood. About 


WITHIN THE CATES. 


lo8 

a quarter of an hour afterward they were near 
enough to hear the surf thundering on the beach. 
Some of the men were for landing off-hand, and 
both Jack and Tom found it hard work to keep 
these fellows in order. 

Tom thought that the land in front of them was 
most likely one of the smaller islands at the north- 
ern part of the Bahama group. A line of white 
sand-hills, topped by a growth of coarse grass and 
low scrub bushes, could be seen a little distance 
inland. The shore stretched northerly and south- 
erly, and looking from the seaward, they could see 
no break in it. 

Jack put the boat’s head to the southward, so as 
to keep the seas pretty well to the stern, his idea 
being to run along the coast line until he could 
either turn the end of the island, or find some creek 
or inlet where there would be a fit place to beach 
the cutter. 

There was a current setting up the beach, and it 
was very laborious work pulling against it, so, as 
time went on, the men grumbled louder and louder, 
saying that they might just as well land where they 
were, and that there was no use breaking their 
hearts with rowing, while they might beach the 
boat, with only a ducking at the worst. 

Tom was more sorry for the men, than angry at 
them, for any one could see how parched they were 
with thirst, and how nearly worn out. 

At last a sailor named Hitch flung down his oar, 
and swore that he would row no more, without it 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


109 


was to row to the shore. An approving growl 
went up amongst the men, and things began to 
take a very ugly look. Jack was in a towering 
rage; he swore at the men, as only he could swear; 
but every moment showed that they could not be 
kept at their oars a great while longer. 

Meantime the man Hitch sat sullenly, answering 
Jack’s words with others not a bit better. 

“Tom,” roared Jack, all of a sudden; “Tom, 
come here and take this tiller, while I settle that 
mutinous son of a sea cook.” 

He made a step forward as he spoke, but in a 
moment the man’s fingers were around the boat’s 
plug. 

“You’ll settle me, will you?” cried he. “ — — 
your eyes ! Come a step furder, and I’ll out with 
this plug, and send us all to the bottom, with the 
boat under us ! ” 

Jack stopped where he was, for he saw that the 
fellow would do as he said ; had he done so, the 
boat would have filled and gone dov/n in a minute. 

When Jack stopped, a laugh went up from all 
around, for it was plain to see that the men were in 
sympathy with Hitch. This made the fellow feel 
inclined to go a step further, for he felt bold when 
he saw Jack pause. 

“ If you don’t put the boat’s head to the shore,” 
said he, “ 111 pull out the plug, anyhow ! ” 

“Tom,” cried Jack, passionately, “give me the 
tiller; if they will drown for a pack of lubberly 
fools, let them drown and be — d ! ” 


no 


WITHIN THE CAPES 


For heaven’s sake, Jack!” cried Tom; think 
what you’re about. You’ll drown us all. Let me 
hold the tiller 1 ” 

But Jack was blind and deaf with his passion, 
and would listen to nothing. Tom struggled with 
him as long as he was able; holding on to the 
tiller with might and main, fighting him off, and 
pleading with him all the while. 

I suppose that they must have fought for two or 
three minutes, and the boat was nearly swamped 
more than once with their struggles. At last Jack 
wrenched Tom’s hands away and seized hold of the 
tiller, for a great part of Tom’s strength had gone 
from him, because of long and hard exposure, 
which seemed to have told more upon him than on 
Jack. 

The men appeared to be pretty well frightened 
by this time, and Hitch had taken his oar again. 
In a moment Jack had put the boat’s head toward 
the shore. 

“ Pull lively now, my hearties,” said he, grimly, 
“ for you’ll have a tough pull of it before you get 
to that beach over yonder.” 

Just before they came to the outer line of 
breakers, Jack put the cutter’s head about so as to 
let her beach stern foremost. 

Tom knew that the cutter would never get through 
the breakers. There was not the tenth part of the 
tenth part of a chance of it ; therefore he flung off 
his coat and kicked off his shoes, so as to be in 
readiness when the time should come. There was 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


III 


not much of the raging and the lashing of the surf 
to be seen from the sea. Now and then a spit of 
foamy water would shoot high up into the air from 
the recoil of the waters on the hard sand, but they 
could not tell what the full wrath and roaring of 
the great breakers were until they had gotten fairly 
in amongst them. 

Jack did all that a man could do to get that boat 
to the beach. He tried rather to keep it off than to 
urge it too rapidly toward the shore. He did his 
work well, for he had brought the cutter through 
the first line of breakers, and into the second — ^but 
he got her no further. 

A monstrous wave, fully twelve feet high, a solid 
mountain of green water, came rushing toward 
them, its crest growing sharper and sharper, and 
seeming to mount higher and higher as it swept 
toward the shore. 

“ Pull for your lives ! ” roared Jack, in a voice of 
thunder. But it was no use, for the next instant 
the breaker was on them. For a moment Tom 
had a feeling of spinning toward the shore, with 
the green water towering ten feet above him ; then it 
arched slowly over, there was a crash and a roar, and 
he was struggling in a whirling, watery blindness. 

Over and over he rolled, grasping at the sand 
every now and then, but all the time feeling himself 
as helpless as a rat in the tumultuous swirling of 
the water. Presently he felt himself being sucked 
out again. Faster and faster he went, as the under- 
tow gathered force in its rush. For a moment he 


II2 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


gained his feet, and bore with all his strength 
against the outgoing water. The sand slid from 
beneath his heels, till he must have sunk three 
inches into it. For an instant he had a half-blinded 
vision of Jack Baldwin, fifteen or twenty feet nearer 
to the shore than himself Then came another 
crashing roar, and he was whirled over and over 
and round and round, like a feather in the water. 
A great feeling of utter helplessness came over 
him; for a moment his lips came to the surface 
and he gave a gurgling cry. 

Out went the undertow again, and out went Tom 
with it, only to meet another breaker and to be 
again whirled by it toward the beach. By this 
time he had given up struggling, and everj^thing 
was sliding away from him. 

All of a sudden he felt himself clutched by the 
shirt. Once more came the horrible dragging of 
the undertow, but this time some one was holding 
him against it. Everything was glimmering to his 
sight, but he felt that he was being dragged up on 
the beach, and at last that he was lying on the dry 
sand, face up, and Jack Baldwin panting alongside 
of him. 


/ 


PART II j 


8 


113 




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CHAPTER X. 


I N this story of Tom Granger I have undertaken 
to divide that which I am writing into chapters 
and parts, in the same manner that novel writers 
sometimes divide their novels and tales. I find 
that it keeps me more steadily to my course, so 
that, though I wander now and then from the 
matter in hand, I always get safely back to my 
bearings again. If you will go with me to the end, 
you will find that I have spun my yarn to the last 
word, though it may be in my own fashion. 

Every one has read tales of shipwreck and of 
lonely islands, and there is generally something 
romantic and even pleasant in them; but in real 
shipwreck there is nothing either romantic or 
pleasant ; neither is a desert island a cheerful place 
to dwell upon. I say this because I w'ish you to 
understand why it is that I do not intend to give 
you a long account of the life that they led at this 
place. 

Ncv'crtheless, I would not have you think from 
tliat which I have just written that Tom and Jack 
were altogether miserable during the year and a half 
th^t thev lived there» times they were sick 

»} 


ii6 


WmiJN Tim CAFES. 


at heart looking for the aid that was so long in 
coming; but there were other times when they 
were full of hopes, and times when they were even 
happy. Neither was the place a barren, desolate, 
dreary sand waste, such as are many of the Bahama 
Islands. They saw many curious and beautiful 
things during the time of their living there. As 
an instance I may say that when Tom came away 
he brought with him a parcel of as handsome shells 
as ever I saw in all my life. They are now piled 
upon the mantle-shelf in my parlor. I have them 
before my eyes as I write these words. There is 
a large one upon the centre-table that has a full- 
rigged ship wrought upon it. It was carved with a 
jack-knife, and it shows the work of many idle 
moments, when Tom sat beside the fire in front of 
their hut at night, with Jack Baldwin for company. 

Oftentimes a great longing has come upon Toni 
to visit the old place once more, and to see those 
things again which he learned to know so well. As 
I sit here now, ana close my eyes, I can see man)/ 
of them with my inward sight. I can even see them 
more clearly than when the memory of them was 
fresh and green, for, as the eyes of one’s body 
become dim and blurred, the eyes of memoiy 
become ever sharper and keener, so that not even 
the smallest thing escapes their sight. So now 1 
can see the place that was Tom’s home for sixteen 
months so long ago, as plainly as though I had left 
it only yesterday. I can see the cave in the side of 
the sand-hill, the cutter turned bottom up for the 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


\\7 


roof, and the screen of woven grass that hung in 
front to keep the rain from beating in. I can ev^en 
see the tame sea-gull sitting on the keel of the 
upturned boat. 

Oftentimes, as I sit smoking my pipe after my 
dinner, I slide off into a doze, and sometimes I 
dream of all these places — of the sand-spit where 
they found the half-buried wreck that brought them 
so strange a fortune ; of the long, narrow tongue of 
sand beyond, where, at low tide, the flamingoes 
always stood in a line, like so many red-coated 
British soldiers ; of the coral reef where they 
fished ; of the beach where the turtles came to drop 
their eggs, and of other things, all of them seeming 
pleasant as I look at them down through the 
distance of the past. So I should like to see the 
old place once more with my mortal eyes, though I 
may never hope to do so now, for my sands are 
nearly run. 

But, though the place may seem pleasant to me 
after all these years, it was not an island such as 
one reads of in novels and stories ; it was not a 
place upon which one would choose to live all 
one’s years, and Tom Granger was tired enough of 
it before he got through with it, I can tell you. 

My neighbors profess to be very fond of ri.stening 
to me when I get started in upon spinning yarns 
about Tom Granger’s life on the island, and I think 
that riot only do they profess to be fond of it, but 
that they really are so. 

My dear old friend, the late Doctor White, used 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


Il8 

to come regularly every Saturday night, winter or 
summer, clear or foul, and the first thing that he 
would say was : 

“ Come, Tom, spin us a yarn ; ” or, Let us hear 
one of your traveler’s lies, Tom.” (This, you 
understand, was merely a piece of pleasantry upon 
his part.) Then straightway I would begin upon 
some yarn, while he would sit opposite to me 
across the fire, listening to me and smoking his 
pipe the while. I must say, though, that he had a 
nasty habit of interrupting me with experiences of 
his own, for he had been assistant surgeon aboard 
the Pimlico, in the South Atlantic, from 1836 to 
1838, and he had seen a few little trivial things 
which he would tell me, though I had heard them 
a score of times J)efore, and though they were not 
nearly as interesting as those things which I would 
be telling him. 

However, that is neither here nor there, and I 
find that I am again wandering from the point in 
hand. What I began to say was, that, though my 
neighbors are always glad to listen to my yarns, 
and though they tell me that they are both inter- 
esting and instructive, I will not giv^e a long and 
full account of Tom’s and Jack’s daily life upon the 
island on which they were cast, for this narrative 
concerns other matters of more import, and I thank 
my stars that I am able to bridle my tongue, being, 
as I said before, no great talker. 

Tom and Jack were the only ones of all the 
grew of the cutter that were cast alive on the island^ 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


The first day or two of their life thereon was as 
bitter and miserable as could be. All this would 
be both painful and unpleasant to tell, as well as 
needless, and, therefore, I will pass it by. By the 
time that a month had gone, they were settled as 
comfortably as could be, considering what they had 
at hand to make themselves comfortable. 

The body of the island was about five miles in 
length, and about two miles or two miles and a half 
in breadth at the widest part. From the lower and 
easterly end a long, sandy hook ran out into the 
ocean. It was the continuation of the eastern 
beach, and, with the south shore of the island, it 
enclosed a smooth, deep bay or harbor, in which 
even the largest ships could have ridden at anchor 
easily and comfortably. 

On the Atlantic side of this sand-spit, and clo.se 
to where it joined the body of the island, was the 
sunken wreck that afterward had so much to do 
with Tom’s fortunes, and of which I shall soon 
have more to tell you. The eastern side of this 
hook or beach was of sloping sand, washed up by 
the continual beating of the surf The western, or 
bay side, was an abrupt coral reef This coral reef 
was covered with barnacles, so that there were 
always plenty of fish to be caught along that shore 
during the slack water or the young flood. 

Up and down the length of the eastern shore, 
and following in a line with the beach, was a ridge 
of white sand hill.^ A r umber of scrub trees grew 
along the crest of this ridge, and it was these trees 


120 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


or bushes that the lookout in the cutter had first 
sighted. In the south-western end of these sand 
hills Jack and Tom built their hut. 

The lower end of the chain of white hills made a 
sudden turn to the westward, and not far from 
where they fell away to the level of the beach was 
a thicket of underbrush, with half a dozen palmetto 
trees growing in the midst of it. Near to the edge 
of this thicket a spring of clear, cool water bubbled 
up out of the white sand, and slid away through 
thick grasses and sedge until it found its way 
through a marshy little flat into the bay. 

It was close to this spot that they chose to live, 
and thither they dragged the cutter from the place 
where she had been flung on the sand, two or three 
miles further up the beach. The boat had been 
stove in beyond all hopes of repairing, especially as 
they had no tools to mend it with, excepting their 
jack-knives and two rude chisels that Tom after- 
ward made from rusty bolts which they picked out 
of the ribs of the wreck on the sand-spit. But, even 
if they had had a whole boat-builder’s ouLfit, and 
planks to spare, I doubt if the cutter could have been 
mended, for not only had the bottom been stove 
in, but the bow had been smashed into splinters. 

The loss of the cutter was one of their bitterest 
sources of regret during their life on this place, 
for now and then they could see the looming of 
land not more than twenty miles away toward the 
southward. They could easily have reached it 
in a day’s time, if the boat had been sound and 


I2I 


WITHIN THE CAPET.. 

whole. As it was, she would never float again, 
so they dragged her down the beach and patched 
her with grass and mud, and used her for a roof to 
cover them at night, for they found that the dews 
were heavy at some seasons of the year. It took 
them over a fortnight to move the boat from where 
she had been thrown to the place where they built 
their home, three miles away. It was heavy work 
hauling it across the sand, but, as I said, by the 
time that a month had gone, they were pretty 
comfortably settled, and were feeling quite at home 
in their quarters. 

In front of them was the long, narrow hook of 
white sand, over which the air danced and quivered 
when the hot sun beat down upon it. It curved 
out into the dark water for a mile, like a long, 
slender hook, cutting off the bay from the open 
water beyond. To the right of them was the bay 
shore of the island, the silvery sand strewn thicldy 
with many-colored shells as far as the eye could 
reach.- About three hundred yards away was the 
buried WTeck. At that time nothing was to be 
seen of it but the ribs, that just showed above the 
sand like a row of dead, blackened stumps. From 
this wreck they obtained iron spikes, which Tom 
fashioned into rude tools and ruder fish-hooks. 

Such was the scene that they had before their 
eyes for all those sixteen months, unchanged, ex- 
cepting as storm or calm would change the face of 
things; and the same monotonous sound was always 
in their ears— the eternal ” swash ! swash I of the 


}22 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


ground swell on the shell-strewn beach below the 
hut sounding unceasingly through the deep, heavy 
thundering of the Atlantic breakers to the eastward. 

Day followed day in an unchanging round — now 
fishing and now hunting gull’s eggs. The fishing 
was done in the morning, when the tide was good. 
During the hot afternoons they would lie on the 
sand, in the shade of the cutter, looking out to sea, 
talking lazily, and now and then dozing. It was a 
helpless, listless life, and as time wore along, I 
doubt if they would have known what day or 
month or even what year it was, if Tom had not 
kept a score of the days as they passed, by marking 
them on the side of the cutter with his jack-knife — 
a short mark for week days and a long mark with a 
cross for Sundays. By this means they contrived 
to know how time was going wnth them. 

This enforced inaction was one of the bitterest 
trials to them. I have known times when, while 
they were sitting still. Jack would burst out into a 
sudden volley of imprecations. Tom would never 
give way in this manner; — perhaps it would have 
been a relief to him if he had. Wlien the darkness 
(.r despair would settle over him, he .would leave 
Jack, and walk up and down the beach by himself; 
perhaps for hours at a time. l')uring all the time 
that the Nancy Hazleivood was sinking under him, 
Tom had thought little of Patty, and had wondered 
at himself in a dull sort of a way; perhaps it was 
the press of work that was then upon him, that 
drove her out of his mind, or rather blunted the 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


m 

keenness of the thought of her. But now, in the 
listless idleness of his life, he thought of her, and 
thought of her continually. Her presence was 
always with him, and at times his longing for her 
was so deep and keen, that his heart ached with it. 
Often in the night time he would lie on the dark, 
lonely sand, looking up at the stars, saying nothing, 
but thinking of Patty and of his home, with a longing 
so strong, that sometimes he was nearly crazy with 
the yearning of his home-sickness. At other times 
the gloominess of a deep despair would settle ov^er 
him in a dark cloud , then, perhaps, he would say 
to himself, “Supposing that I do get back to my 
home again, what good will it do me? I have 
been given a year in which to earn seven hundred 
and fifty dollars; it may be two years before I am 
taken off of this sand spit, — what chance is there of 
my earning that much here?’’ Then, maybe he 
would get up and walk away, pacing up and down 
the beach by himself, cursing the fortune that had 
thrown him on this land, and sometimes even 
selfishly wishing that he could die, and be rid of all 
the troubles that beset him. During such moods 
Jack would leave him alone, for he saw that Tom 
was thinking of things, and was not to be talked to 
or interfered with ; — he had grown to have a 
strangely high regard and respect for him; very 
different from the way in which he used to look 
upon him. He seemed to have a dim idea that 
Tom’s troubles were deeper than his own, but why 
they were greater, he did not know, for Tom never 


124 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


talked of Patty to him. So Jack always let him 
alone, and, though he would follow him with his 
eyes, he never ventured a word at such times. 

I would no have you think that Tom was 
twiddling his thumbs all this time, and idly wishing 
that he could get away without doing anything 
further than to wish. 

During the fall they built a raft; it took them 
nearly a month and a half to make it, for they had 
no tools to work with, but two rude chisels and two 
jack-knives, one of which (Jack s) had the point 
broken off of it. But after they had spent all the 
lime in the making of the raft, it turned out to be 
of no use, excepting to fish off of in the bay during 
fair weather, so all their labor was for nothing. 

They had great ideas of it at first, and one day 
when the wind was fair, and the day clear and 
bright, they undertook to sail away upon it to the 
island to the southward. Tom had fashioned a 
pair of oars out of a palmetto tree, and he and 
Jack had made a sail out of the coarse sea-grass 
that covered the island ; these had cost them vast 
labor, but they found that with oars and sail 
together, they did not get their clumsy craft along 
at the rate of a mile an hour. I doubt if they ever 
could have reached the island under -the best of 
circumstances ; as it was, they met a current a 
couple of miles to the southward, that swept them 
out to sea. They were fully six hours in getting 
back to land ; even then it was a chance that they got 
back at all, nor would they have done so if a wind 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


1 25 

had not" luckily sprung up from the south. After 
that they were content to remain where they were. 

They also se\ up a signal : it was a palmetto tree 
with a bush lashed to the top of it; beside this they 
built a pile of brush to fire at night, in case any 
vessel should appear in the offing at evening time. 
They added to this brush heap, from day to day 
until it was as high as a hay stack. 

Once, during the latter part of that autumn, a dead 
porpoise was washed up on the beach toward the 
lower part of the sandy hook. This was a God- 
send to them as a means to let their condition be 
known to the outside world, for of the skin of this 
porpoise they made a number of bags or bladders, 
which they set adrift at different times, when the 
wind was fair for carrying them away. In these 
air bladders Tom put a map of the island, its 
bearings (as nearly as he could judge), and word of 
their condition. All this was drawn and written 
on two strips of bark, and was done with the point 
of a red hot piece of iron. This was the wording 
of the written part : 


The ship Nancy Hazlewood 
of Philadelphia was lost 
at sea on the 26 of Apt. 

181J. The ist & 2d mates 
by name fohn Kent Baldwin 
and Thomas Granger were 
wrecked on ths. Islnd. If 
you are a Christn. come to 
thr. aid. 


126 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


This I have copied from a slip of bark that 
Captain Williamson afterward gave me. 

Thus they settled and lived on the island with 
little of interest happening in their lives, until the 
great hurricane of 1814 came upon them. This 
was great in itself, but it brought that with it which 
let them have no more idle days for a long time to 
come. 


CHAPTER XL 


T SUPPOSE that there are very few people who 
1 read this story that have not heard of the great 
liurricane of 1814, for I take it that very few will 
read what I have written who are not in some way 
related or connected with Tom Granger, and all 
such have heard him tell of it again and again. 
Nevertheless, as I have ink and paper before me, 
and as the itch of writing is upon me, I will tell it 
once more for the benefit of those who come here- 
after, and who have not heard of it from Tom’s 
own mouth. 

This hurricane reached over a zone stretching in 
breadth from Florida to the Greater Antilles. It 
was felt more heavily in the northern part than 
anywhere else, so that Tom and Jack passed 
through the worst of it. One hundred and eight 
vessels were wrecked in the harbors and on the 
coast of this region during the progress of the 
hurricane, and the death-list was known to reach as 
high as one hundred and six. The crops suffered 
severely, and over seven hundred houses were 
destroyed. 

A few years ago, while I was spending a couple 

127 


128 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


of weeks at Atlantic City with my wife and two of 
my grandchildren, I met a Mr. Fitzgerald. He was 
a lad living at Nassau at the time of this hurricane, 
and he not only remembered it well, but his father, 
who was a gentleman much interested in scientific 
matters, had kept careful data and memoranda 
relating to it. 

Mr. Fitzgerald was a very bright and intelligent 
old gentleman at the time that I met him, and I 
was much interested in talking the matter over 
with him, and comparing notes regarding it. The 
storm was severe enough with Tom and Jack, but 
it must have been terrible indeed in a place where 
there were so many lives to be lost and so much 
property to be destroyed as in Nassau. He told 
me that the storm began with them about ten 
o’clock in the night of the fourth of March, and 
blew with great violence until half-past ten o’clock 
in the morning of the fifth. The barometer at that 
time stood at 27.06 inches, which was the lowest 
that his father had ever seen it. From that time 
the storm subsided, and the torrents of rain began 
to cease, though the wind continued to blow with 
violence until four o’clock in the afternoon. But 
all the great loss of life and property happened in 
the space of twelve hours, and while the hurricane 
was at its height. 

The storm began at an earlier hour with Jack 
and Tom than it did at Nassau, according to Mr. 
Fitzgerald’s account of it. I know, however, that 
it canic on the fourth of March, because that is the 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


i2Cj 


day before Tom’s birthday, which comes on the 
fifth; therefore I am accurate in regard to my 
dates, even if Mr. Fitzgerald had not corroborated 
the account that I have always given of it. 

It was a peculiarly sultry day, especially for that 
time of the year. Tom and Jack were fishing in 
the morning, and, though they were sitting still, 
the sweat kept running from Tom’s face in streams, 
as though he was engaged in doing a hard piece 
of work. All morning there was a dead stillness 
and a leaden heaviness in the air, and it seemed 
as though it was a labor even to breathe. The 
sea gulls kept flying around the reef in a troubled 
way, clamoring as they flew, and seeming to be 
restless and uneasy at the oppressive stillness. 
The sky in the morning was of a dull copperish 
color, though not a cloud was to be seen, but, as 
the day wore along, a misty haze spread above 
them, through which the sun shone red and dull, 
as it does in the morning and evening, when it is 
near to the horizon. Once Jack said : 

“Tom, there’s something going to happen. I 
never felt anything like this in all my life before ; 
and did you ever see the sea gulls behaving as 
they are doing now? Mark my words, Tom, 
there’s something going to come of all this before 
the day’s over.” 

Tom agreed with him in his forebodings, for the 
oppression that he was laboring under made him 
feel singularly apprehensive and uneasy in his 
mind. In the afternoon they left their fishing and 

9 


mu CAPES, 


"n^ 

went back to their hut, where they stretched them* 
selves out in the shade, panting for breath, for it 
seemed as though a hot blanket had been spread 
above them. The tame sea gull sat under the lee 
of the boat, all hunched up together. Every now 
and then it would look restlessly about, uttering a 
low, whimpering note as it did so. 

About four o’clock in the afternoon, as near as 
Tom could judge, a strong puff of wind blew 
suddenly from the south. It ceased as suddenly as 
it began, but, in a few minutes a gust as sudden and 
as short-lived blew from the west. Then it blew 
again,, but from the eastward. This time it was 
more steady, and in a quarter of an hour it had 
increased to a smart gale. It seemed to bring 
some coolness with it, and lifted the oppressed 
feeling that had rested upon Tom and Jack during 
the morning. Within an hour or so of sundown 
this wind died away completely, and then it was as 
heavy, and as still, and as sultry as ever. Then half 
an hour passed before anything farther happened. 

Jack and Tom were busy scaling and cleaning 
their fish when, all of a sudden, a shadow fell as 
though a hand had been stretched out across the 
sky. Jack ran out of the hut with his knife in his 
hand, and the next moment Tom heard him calling 
to him m a loud voice, bidding him to hurry out 
and look at what was coming. Then Tom dropped 
everything and ran. 

As I said before, there was not a breath of air 
stirring, and yet a black ragged wrack of clouds 


(VITHIN THE CAPES. 


13I 

was flying wildly above their heads. This bellying 
sheet of clouds hung very low in the air; above 
them it was of a dull leaden color, rimmed with a 
strange reddish light, but toward the west it was as 
black as ink. Although there was no wind going, 
a cold air seemed to breathe out of the black 
emptiness of the west, just such as you may feel 
when you open the door of a cool room in the 
summer time. The ocean near to them was grey, 
with the light from the east, and ev^ery now and 
then a white-cap would gleam, with a pallid light 
against the darkness behind ; but in the distance it 
grew darker and darker, until the rim of the 
horizon was lost in the inky pall beyond. Ev^ery 
moment the gloom fell about them, until it seemed 
as though night had set in, though it was a 
good hour till sundown. A dull, whispering 
moaning sound came from out the hollow of the 
west, and Tom could hear it through all the beating 
and thundering of the surf behind him. There 
was something awful in that moaning that seemea 
to fill the air above and around them; both men 
stood looking out toward the west, and neither of 
them said a word. Tom noticed how the sea gulls 
were running restlessly up and down the beach, 
uttering shrill wild cries every now and then, but 
not taking to wing. 

And every moment the deep moaning grew 
louder and louder. 

Suddenly a faint breath of air came, and instantly 
the sound of the surf to the east was dulled as 


132 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


though a blanket had been spread over it. Then 
there was a pause, — then thefe was a wild sweep of 
the wind,' — then, in an instant, the hollow roar was 
Upon them and around them. 

Out from the blackness of the west came rushing 
an awful grey cloud of mist and rain and salt spray, 
and before I can write these words, it struck the 
island with a tremendous and thunderous uproar. 
Tom and Jack were flung backward and down to 
the ground as though a wall had fallen upon them, 
and all around them was a blinding gloom of sand 
and rain and spray. Through this whirling dark- 
ness Tom saw the cutter lifted up and tossed over 
and over like a dead leaf. Even through all the 
uproar he could distinctly hear the noise of snap- 
ping and rending and tearing, as the trees and 
bushes of the thicket near to them were being torn 
up by the roots. Then he had a vision of one of 
the palmetto trees being whirled through the air as 
though it were a straw. 

For a while he lay clinging flat to the ground, 
digging his fingers into the sand ; but after a while 
he saw that Jack was crawling on his hands and 
knees toward the lee of the sand hills, not far aw ay 
from where they lay; then he followed him in like 
manner. 

It w^as a great while before they got safely to the 
shelter of the duns; I suppose that it could not 
have taken them less than half an hour to cross the 
two hundred yards of sand that lay between them 
and the lee of the sand hills. Every now and then 


WITHIN THE SAPES. 


133 


a heavier gust than usual would come, and then 
they would lay flat upon the sand again, holding 
on to the shifting surface, as though they feared 
being blown bodily away. But between the gusts 
they would contrive to crawl a few feet farther. 

At last they reached the lee of the hills, and so 
were sheltered from the full force of the wind, 
though the hurricane bellowed and roared above 
and around them with a noise such as Tom nev^er 
heard before or since. 

The rain increased till it fell in torrents ; it did 
not beat down the wind, for the tempest blew more 
and more heavily until just before morning, when 
it was something frightful. 

All that night the rain poured down upon them 
in a deluge, but I do not think that either of them 
noticed it,, their minds being taken up with quite 
different matters. The darkness around them was 
utter and blank beyond what I can tell you. You 
could not have seen your hand within six inches of 
your face. It seemed as though the end of all 
things had come. 

Tom and Jack sat hand in hand; — when one of 
them said anything to the other, he had to put his 
lips to within an inch of his companion’s ear, to 
make him understand a single word. But very 
little was said between them, and most of the time 
they sat holding one another‘s hand in silence. 
Now and then the ground would actually tremble 
beneath them, and at times a dim fear passed 
through Tom’s mind that the very sand hill above 


134 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


them would be carried bodily away with the force 
of that tremendous blast. About day-break, or 
what would have been day-break at an ordinary 
time, the rain ceased to fall, though the hurricane 
still raged with nearly as much fury as ever. 

At last the faint grey daylight came, and after a 
while they were able to see the things around them 
pretty clearly. The first thing that Tom saw was a 
white sea gull crouched on the ground close to 
him. He could have reached out his hand and 
have touched it, but it did not seem to be in the 
least afraid at his presence. There were hundreds 
of them around, but they all seemed to be dulled 
with terror, and made no effort to move out of the 
way, or to take to flight. 

At length, in the dim morning light, the ocean 
came out before them; it was a strange sight, for 
the surf was beaten down by the wind", until the 
sand beach reached out half as far again as it did 
on ordinary occasions. 

At first they could see nothing of the sandy hook 
to the southward, for, though no sea was running, 
and though the ocean was leveled to a seething 
sheet of whiteness, the water was banked up in the 
bay, and covered the sand spit completely. The 
first thought that occurred to Tom was that the 
whole bar had been swallowed up, and that there 
had been an earthquake, though they had not 
noticed it in all the bewilderment of the tempest. 
But, as the light grew stronger and stronger, they 
could see the gleam of wet sand here and there. 


wmnN Tim capms. 135 

and then could see the water running over it from 
the bay to the ocean. 

By this time the storm was beginning to fall, 
though they did not dare to leave their shelter for 
an hour or so later, and though the wind was still 
heavy until the middle of the afternoon. 

When they did leave the lee of the hill, the sight 
was strange enough; the palmetto trees were all 
gone but one, and it was more than half stripped of 
leaves. 

One of them had been carried more than a 
quarter of a mile, and was now lying half buried in 
the sand at the base of the dun, beneath which they 
had taken shelter. 

There was not a sign of their home in the sand 
hill, for not only was the place levelled over as 
completely as though it had never been, but the 
very shape of the hills themselves had been changed 
by the sand that had blown against them here, or 
had been carried away from them there. 

The cutter had been swept away to a distance of 
two or three hundred yards. It had lodged in a 
hollow between two of the duns. It was lying keel 
up, and the sand was banked around the weather 
side of it like a snowdrift. Strange enough, it was 
not much more broken than it had been before, so 
they got it back again in a day or two, and it was 
still sound enough to serve for their roof for the 
balance of the time that they stayed on the island. 

The great stack of brushwood that they had 
heaped on the highest sand-dun had all been 


13 ^ 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


carried away, as had also their signal tree with the 
bush lashed to it. Everything v.'as salt with the 
spray that had been carried inland, and the island 
flats were dotted all over with pools of salt water, 
that had been blown or swept over the land. 
Wherever this salt water lay the grass was killed 
or blackened, so that the following summer the 
island looked as though fire had passed over it. 

Such was the great hurricane of 1814 as Tom 
Granger and Jack Baldwin felt it; and I think 
that they both felt it in its full force, though 
they escaped from it with no more harm than a 
thorough wetting and a great fright. It took them 
several weeks to do what they could at making 
good the damage done, and then it was not fully 
repaired, for all the provisions that they had stored 
up had been carried av/ay or had been covered up 
by the sand that had been blown before the blast. 

I tliink that the greatest loss that they suffered 
was that of Tom’s jack-knife. He had left it lying 
beside the fish that he was in the act of cleaning 
when Jack had called to him and he had run out 
of the hut. They looked for it every now and 
then for several days afterward, digging about the 
place where it had been lost ; but their hut or cave 
in the sand hill had been so cor pletely covered, 
and the lay of the hill itself had been so entirely 
changed, that they never found it again. 

The loss of a jack-knife m. y seem but a small 
thing to tell you, who have only had to slip around 
the corner and buy a new one at the nearest 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


137 


hardware shop. But there was no hardware shop 
near to Jack and Tom, and the loss of the jack- 
knife was a very great ill to them. 

Neither did they ever see the tame sea-gull 
again, and they missed the sight of it from the keel 
of the upturned boat. I suppose that it must have 
been swept away autl have perished in the hurricane. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A nd now a little more than a week had passed 
since the great hurricane of which I have just 
told you fell upon them. I recollect that it was a 
Sunday morning. Sundays were generally spent 
in doing no work, and in taking a stroll around the 
island. But they had had no rest since the day of 
the storm, for the time between then and now had 
all been spent in repairing the damages that had 
been wrought. Now they were pretty comfortably 
settled again, and the day being bright and fair, 
they had fixed that it should be spent in taking a 
look about them. 

It was cool and pleasant, and they strolled 
leisurely up the western side of the island, skirting 
the belt of Mangrove bushes, around the northern 
end, past the barren sand flat, and so down the 
Atlantic beach again. By the middle of the after- 
noon they had come back to the lower end of the 
island, and had gone out on to the spit. 

The water that had washed over this place on 
the day of the storm had carried away a great deal 
of the sand. The surf ran much farther up the 
beach, and Tom noticed that the ribs of the wreck 
138 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


139 


stood higher out of the sand than he had ever seen 
them. They did not go farther than the wreck, but 
laid themselves down close to it, looking out across 
the water toward the distant island that was then 
looming to the southward, talking about it and 
about their chances of getting to it. 

Jack was in a more than usually downhearted 
state as to their not being able to get away from the 
place that they were on. He said that so far as he 
could see, they might have to live there all their 
lives and then die, and no one be the wiser of it 
Tom was feeling gloomy himself on this particular 
day, and he felt very imp^*^tient at poor Jack when he 
began his complaining. He felt that if complaints 
were to be made, it was he that should make them, 
and not Jack, for had he not much more to lose by 
staying where he was than the other ? I know how 
selfish this was, but there are times when we arc 
given over to spells of selfishness, and, though such 
a state may be very wrong, it is yet very natural. 

‘^You might just as well have patience, Jack,’* 
said he. “ WeVe tried to get away already, and 
you know what came of it. We certainly can’t 
live here forever without sighting a vessel of some 
sort at some time or other.” 

We haven’t seen a sign of a ship up to this 
time,” said Jack, gloomily. 

“ That’s very true, and maybe we’ll have to wait 
till the war’s over before one comes along. You 
know very well that there’s no shippin;;^ being done 
nowadays.” 


140 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


“Wait till the war’s over!” cried Jack, raising 
himself suddenly on his elbow ; “ why, heavens and 
earth, man, it may be half a dozen years to come, 
before the war’s over I” 

“ Perhaps it may be a dozen years, for all that I 
know,” said Tom, “but all the same you’ll have to 
wait, so you may just as well keep your tongue still 
between your teeth, and be patient about it I ” 

“Wait?” cried Jack, and he thumped his 
clenched fist down on the sand. “ By G — I’ll not 
wait! I’ll do something; see if I don’t I I’ll not 
let any twenty miles of water keep me tied up in 
this God-forsaken place ! Why don’t you do some- 
thing ? You’re so full of 3^0111* d — d contrivances 
for making us comfortable ; why don’t you puzzle 
out some plan for getting us off altogether ?” 

Tom was lying on the sand, his hands under his 
head, and one leg crossed comfortably over the 
other. He did not move while Jack was talking, 
and he made a point of seeming to be very easy 
under it, but he was getting more and more angry 
all the time. He did not answer Jack immediately, 
but after a while he spoke as quietly as he could. 

“You’re unreasonable. Jack,” said he. “Haven’t 
I done everything that I could do to get us away ; 
haven’t I built a raft and put up signals on the sand 
hills ; haven’t I set a dozen or more bladder-bags 
adrift ? The chances are that some of them’ll be 
picked up, and in good time a ship’ll come to us. 
I don’t see that you have any reason to complain, 
and if you have reason, you’d better try to do 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


I41 

something yourself; — you’re welcome to it. As for 
our getting away; — we’ve tried to get away already, 
and you know what came of it. In my opinion we 
came so devilish near getting away, that we liked 
never to have got back to this or to any other 
island.” 

“ Do you mean to say that you’re so scared at a 
little risk that you’re afraid to try it over again ? ” 

“I don’t know about being scared, but I cer- 
tainly ain’t going to try it over again.” 

“You ain’t?” 

“ No.” 

Jack did not say a word for a little while, but 
Tom felt that he was looking at him very hard. 
At last he spoke again. 

“ It’s my belief, Tom Granger,” said he, “ that 
you haven’t got an ounce of pluck left about you. 
I believe that you’re that dull that you’d be content 
to live here forever, if you could get enough to fill 
your belly ! ” 

This was too much for Tom. He sat up sud- 
denly, facing the other. “ Jack Baldwin,” said he, 
and his voice trembled with his anger, “ understand 
me, once for all. If we’re to live together, or to 
talk together, or to have anything to do with one 
another, I never want to hear such speech from 
your mouth as you’ve just given me; do you 
understand me ? ” 

Here he paused for a moment, and then he burst 
out passionately: “What do you know how much 
I want to get away ? Do you suppose that I don’t 


142 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


want to get away because I don’t keep up an ever- 
lasting whimpering and whining about it, as you 
do ? What do you want to get away for, anyhow ? 
Is the only woman that you love in all the world 
waiting at home for you, looking for you, and 
praying for you, and wondering why she don’t 
hear from you — thinking, maybe, that you’re dead. 
God help her ! I wish that I was dead, and that 
she knew it. It would be better for us both, I 
guess ! ” Then he rested his elbows on his knees 
and buried his face in his hands, rocking his body 
to and fro as he sat. 

Jack did not say another word, and in a few 
moments Tom heard him get up and walk away. 
After a little while Tom got a grip on himself and 
looked up again. 

Jack was standing just below the wreck and over 
toward the ocean. He had gathered what seemed 
to be a handful of small, black, flat shells, and he 
was busy in skimming them out across the surf. 
Presently Tom got up and walked slowly over to 
where he was standing. He was heartily ashamed 
of the way in which he had spoken to the other, 
and would have given a great deal if he could only 
have recalled his words ; but that is a thing that 
' can never be done. He stood a little behind Jack, 
with his hands in his breeches pockets, looking 
down at the sand the while. After a while Jack 
spoke, without looking around. 

“Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said he, doggedly, 
“ I’m sorry I spoke to you the way that I did. I 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


143 

didn’t know that you had a sweetheart at home, — 
you ought to ha’ told me before. I’ll never say 
any more about getting away, if I have to stay on 
this d — d island to the crack of doom, and that I 
promise you.” 

“That’s all right,” muttered Tom; “don’t let’s 
say any more about it.” 

One of the round black things that Jack was 
skimming out to sea, lay at his feet, and without 
knowing what he did, he stooped and picked it up 
as he was speaking. He turned it over and over 
in his palm in an absent sort of a way, for he was 
feeling very uncomfortable at the time. 

He turned it over and over, until, after a while, 
it worked through his sight into his mind ; then he 
looked more closely at it, for he had never seen the 
like of it before. It was not a shell, neither was it 
a pebble, for there were no pebbles on the island. 
It was thin and perfectly round, and as black as 
ink. On one side of it was a raised surface that 
bore a faint likeness to the rude image of a head; 
below this was something that looked like a row of 
small figures. He brushed it smooth with the palm 
of his hand, and then looked more closel}^ at it, 
turning it around and around, and this way and 
that. All of a sudden a thought struck him, and I 
cannot describe the thrill that went through him as 
he looked at that which he held. As this thought 
went through his mind, he closed his hand and 
looked slowly around him, as though he was in a 
dream. I can distinctly recollect that that singular 


144 


WITHIN THE CATES. 


feeling which we all have felt at times passed over 
him; — a feeling as though all this had happened 
before, but as though it had happened in a dream. 
Then he looked at the object once more, and could 
just make out the figures; — they were i, 7, 9 and 2. 
He picked at the edge of the disk, and a white 
sparkle followed the scratching of his thumb nail 

“ Good Lord, Jack ! ” cried he, “ look ! look ! ” 

There was a ring in his voice that made Jack 
jump as though he had been struck. “ Look at 
what, Tom ? said he, in a half-frightened voice. 

“ Look at this ! ” said Tom, and he held out that 
which he had picked up a minute before. “ What 
do you think it is?” 

Jack had three or four of them in his own hand, 
don’t know,” said he, turning them over and 
over. Suddenly he too began to look more closely 
at them. '‘Why, Tom — ^Tom — ” he began, “is it 
—is it—” 

“ It’s money ; — it’s silver money, Jack, as sure as 
I am a living sinner ! ” 

“Why, so it is!” cried Jack, “why, so it is, 
Tom ! This is a half a dollar, and so is this, and 
this, and this! Why, Tom, here’s another, and 
another ! Great heavens, Tom 1 the sand's covered 
with them!" 

And so it was. Here and there would be two or 
three lying together, but in most cases they were 
scattered about like shells at high water mark. 
Jack sat down quite overcome, and then began 
laughing in a foolish sort of a way, but there was a 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


145 


catch in his laugh that sounded mightily like cry- 
ing. “ Tom,” said he, “ we’re rich men ! Tom, did 
you ever see or hear of the like ? Why, Tom — ” 

Then he stopped all of a sudden, and, scrambling 
to his feet, fell to gathering up the money as 
though he had been crazy. 

For an hour or more they hunted up and down, 
picking up silver pieces as children pick up chest- 
nuts under a chestnut tree. After a while they 
only found a few stray coins here and there, and 
finally they cleared the beach of them altogether. 
Then they sat down to count them. Tom had 
about two hundred dollars; Jack had gathered 
more nearly three hundred than two. Altogether 
they had a little less than five hundred dollars 
between them. 

” Where do you suppose they came from, Tom?” 
said Jack, after a while. He was sitting on the 
sand when he .spoke, holding a lot of the coins in 
his hand and turning them over with his fingers. 

Tom shook his head. This was the same 
thought that had been puzzling him for some time 
past, and, as yet, he had not been able to answer it. 

After a while they went back to their hut, carry- 
ing their money with them. Jack was very talka- 
tive and excited, but Tom was as silent as the other 
was noisy, for he was pondering over the matter of 
Jack’s question — Where did they all come from ? 

Where did they all come from? He thought 
and thought till his brain was muddled with his 
thinking. Could there have been a treasure buried 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


14^ 

here by the buccaneers in times past? It was a wild 
thought, but Tom was ready for any kind of wild 
thought at the time. But then the date of the coin 
that he had found — 1792 — that was long after the 
time of the buccaneers. He picked up another piece 
and looked at it; it also bore the same date, 1792, 
and so did another and another ; they were all of 
the same mintage. He did not know what to think 
of it. 

Jack must have had a notion that Tom was 
puzzling his wits over this, for he sat beside the fire 
all of the evening without saying a word. Every 
now and then he arose and threw some more brush- 
wood on the flames ; beyond that he hardly moved, 
but sat in silence, watching Tom furtively. 

“ Tom,” said he, at last. 

“ Well, Jack.” 

Do you suppose that it could t'am money ? ” 

Stuff and nonsense ! ” 

“ I don’t see any stuff and nonsense about it. I’ve 
heard of it raining stones, and why shouldn’t it 
rain money as well ? We never found any before 
that hurricane came on us.” 

” That’s true enough. Jack,” said Tom, I hadn’t 
thought of that.” P'or the finding of this money 
had driven all thought of the hurricane out of his 
head. 

Then you think it might have rained money, 
after all ?” 

“ No ; I don’t think that.” 

Humph ! Well, what do you think about it?” 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 147 

don’t know what to think about it; but 
you’ve put a new idea into my head.” 

It was later than usual when they went to rest 
that night. Tom laid awake hour after hour, his 
thoughts as busy as bees. Where had the money 
come from ? This was the question that ran 
through his brain unceasingly, keeping him awake 
as the silent night moved along. And then, 
why should all the coins bear the same date of 
1792? 

Suddenly the whole thing opened before him, 
and he saw it all as clearly as I see the hand before 
my face. He could hardly help shouting aloud, 
but he bethought him that Jack might be asleep, 
and that it would be a pity to awaken him. 

” Jack,” whispered he, in a low voice. 

“ Helloa ! ” said the other, quickly, for he was 
wide awake. 

“ I think I’ve found it out ! ” 

“ Found out what ? ” 

“ Found where the money came from.” 

” Well, where did it come from ? ” said Jack, and 
Tom could see in the gloom that he sat up in his 
excitement. 

“ Did you notice that all the money bore the 
same date, 1792 ? ” said Tom. 

” No ; I didn’t notice that.” 

“ Well, it did, and, what’s more, it’s all Spanish 
money.” 

” But where did it come from ? ” said Jack. 

‘‘Jack,” said Tom, slowly, “as sure as I’m lying 


148 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


here, that wreck on the sand-spit is the wreck of 
a Spanish treasure ship.’* 

“ Tom ! ” shouted Jack, “ you’re right ! What a 
fool I was not to think of that ! Why, it’s as plain 
as the nose on your face ! ” 

No doubt you who read this have guessed the 
matter long ago, and have wondered that Tom and 
Jack were so dull of wits as not to have thought of 
it before. But the idea never entered their heads 
that a fortune was lying buried in the sand that 
covered the poor old wreck that had been so 
constantly before their e3/es for almost a year, and 
when they found money like pebbles along the 
beach, it never struck them that it could have been 
washed out of those crumbling ribs, whose only 
value had been that they gave them a rusty spike 
every now and then. 

Jack was wild to go out into the night, and to 
hunt for money there and then, and it was as much 
as Tom could do to quiet him and make him lie 
down and try to get a little sleep. Of course, 
neither of them caught a wink, and both were 
stirring at the dawn of day. 

The)^ hardly ate a bite of food before they set to 
work. 

By noontide Tom had made a couple of rude 
shovels, the blades of which were of the plankings 
of the cutter over their heads, and the handles of 
which were two straight limbs, cut from the neigh- 
boring thicket. It was a long tedious piece of 
work to make these shovels, for Tom had no tools 


WITHIN THE CATES. 


149 


to work with but Jack’s knife, and only half of the 
blade of that was left. Tom labored steadily at the 
shovels, but Jack was very impatient at the slowness 
of the work, and was continually urging him to 
liurry matters. I suppose that he was back and 
forth from the hut to the wreck a dozen times in 
the course of the morning. 

J5ut at last the shovels were finished. Tom tried 
to persuade Jack to eat a bite before he went to 
v\rork, but Jack would have nothing to do with 
food; he shouldered the two shovels and started 
away to the sand-spit, leaving Tom to cook and eat 
his dinner by himself. When Tom went over to 
the wreck a half an hour later, he found Jack busily 
at v/ork, and a great hole already scooped out in 
the sand, — but Jack had not yet found a cent of 
money. 

I do not think that they had any idea of what 
they were undertaking, and what a . tremendous 
piece of work it was that lay before them. I confess 
that Tom was as foolish as Jack, in having a notion 
that all they would have to do would be to scoop 
away a little sand, and pick up money by the hand- 
ful; but they found nothing either on that day or 
the next, or the next, or for a week or more to 
come. Jack began to be very much discouraged, 
and said more than once that he was certain that 
Tom had been mistaken in his notion that the 
wreck was that of a treasure ship. 

Tom himself began to be a little down-hearted, 
and more than once suspected that he had nia.-’e 


ISO WITHIN THE CAPES. 

a wrong guess. But when he brought to mir 
that the money was of one mintage, and, from th« 
way in which it lay, that it was plainly washed out 
of the wreck by the water that had flowed over the 
sand-spit at the time of the hurricane, he would 
feel reassured that he was right, though he could 
not account for the reason why a part of it should 
have been washed up, while the rest seemed to lie 
so deeply beneath the surface. So he managed to 
keep Jack pretty steadily to his work, though, as 
the days dragged along and nothing came of their 
labor, it became a great task to do so. 

But on the tenth day they made a find. They 
were just about to give up their work for the even- 
ing, when Tom unearthed a small, wooden box. 
It was about a foot long, six inches wide, and three 
or four inches deep. It was very rotten, and fell to 
pieces as Jack tried to pick it up. It was full of 
money, which tumbled all in a heap as the box 
crumbled in Jack’s hand. The money must have 
been in rolls when it was put into the case, for 
there were scraps of mouldy paper mixed with it, 
and some of the coins had bits of paper glued to 
them by the black rust that had gathered upon 
them. 

This was the first money that they found by 
digging, and Jack nearly went crazy over it. Tom 
himself was very much excited, but he did not act 
as absurdly as Jack, who danced, and laughed, and 
shouted like one possessed. It was their first 
gleam of good luck, and it was a good thing that 


WnniM THE CAPES. 15 i 

it came when it did, for it was speedily followed by 
the worst of ill fortune. 

That night there came a south-east storm that 
did great damage. It had been brewing all of the 
afternoon, but Tom and Jack had not seen it, or, if 
they had seen it, had thought nothing of it, for 
heretofore the wash of the surf had never run as far 
up as the wreck, even in the heaviest weather. But 
so much of the sand had been carried away that 
the surf came a great deal higher than it had done 
before. It was blowing quite heavily when Tom 
and Jack went over to the sand-spit the next morn- 
ing, and a part of the wash of the breakers had 
found its way into the place that they had been 
digging, so that the sand had caved in here and 
there. They tried to do all that they could to 
protect their work, but it was no good, for, by the 
time that evening had come, the place that they 
had dug out was half full of sand, and by the next 
morning it was nearly levelled over, and all of their 
labor was to be done again. As soon as the storm 
was over they set to work, and in a week’s time 
had the sand nearly all dug out. Then came 
another blow, and the same thing happened as 
before. 

After this they set about the work with more 
system. They built a breakwater of stakes, between 
which they wove twigs and grass. This was Tom’s 
plan, and they found that it kept the sea back 
completely, for, as I have said, it was only the wash 
of the breakers that ran over the place that they 


152 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


were at work. It never filled up again as long as 
Tom and Jack were engaged upon it. 

But all tliis cost a great deal of time and labor, 
and I doubt very much if they had not found the 
box of money whether they would ever have struck 
a .shovel into the sand again after the first storm 
came upon them ; so that it was a lucky thing that 
they found the box when they did, and that the 
southeaster did not come a day sooner. 

For three or four months they worked as never 
men worked before. It is strange to think of how 
men will labor and toil for money, even when 
money will do them as little good as it did Jack • 
and Tom on this lonely island. It is a wonder that 
they did not kill themselves with the work and the 
hardships that they went through during that time. 
However, the excitement that they were living 
under kept them up to a great degree. 

During all these months they lived upon little 
else than fish. Now and then they would gather a 
few mussels or catch a crab or two, but their chief 
living was fish — broiled fish for breakfast, dinner and 
supper, until they both grew to loathe the very 
sight of it. Tom got such a surfeit of them in that 
time that he could never bear the smell of a frying 
fish from that day to this. 

Upon the first of September they counted over 
the money that they had unearthed, and they found 
that they had over eight thousand dollars in all. 
It was made up of silver coins of all sizes, large 
and small. 


WITHIN THE CAPEE 


153 


They only had three days more of work on the 
island, and, as two of those days were blank, they 
did not add very much to the sum that they had 
already gathered. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


I T was the morning of the 3d of September of 
the same year, — 1814. 

Tom and Jack had just finished their breakfast; — 
it was of broiled fish. Hughy! It makes me 
shudder even now to think of it, for I do hate the 
very sight of a fish. 

The work of digging at the wreck had settled 
down to a very jog-trot business by this time. 
Neither of the men were in a hurry to quit their 
comfortable seat on the sand and turn to hard work, 
that had lost all the savor of novelty it had had at 
first. The first day that they had struck shovel 
into the sand above the wreck. Jack had started off 
eagerly, without eating a bite ; he was quite willing 
to eat a meal now, — even a meal of broiled fish — 
and to take a goodly while to the eating of it also. 
So they both sat dwadling over their unsavory 
food, not at all anxious to make a start. 

“Well, Jack,” said Tom, at last; “I suppose that 
we might as well be stirring.” 

“I reckon we might,” said Jack, and then he 
stretched himself, as a first step toward getting up. 
At that moment a sound fell upon their ears, It 

154 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


1^5 


was not one to which you would have given a 
second thought, and yet if it had been a clap of 
thunder out of a clear sky, it could not have 
startled the two more than it did. 

When they had rebuilt their hut after it had been 
destroyed by the great hurricane, they had not 
located in the same spot in which they had lived 
before. An eddy of the wind had scooped a hollow 
out of the side of the sand hill, and it was in the 
side of this cup-shaped hollow that they had digged 
their house, and had roofed it in with the cutter as 
they had done before; for they thought that they 
would be more sheltered in this spot if another 
hurricane should come upon them. Looking from 
this hollow in front of them, they could see nothing 
but a part of the western ocean and the upper end 
of the sand-spit, whereupon they worked from day 
to day. It was just back of them, and from the 
crest or brim of this sandy bowl that the sound 
came that startled them so greatly. 

It was the sound of a man’s voice. 

Ahoy there ! ” 

For a moment Jack and Tom looked at one 
another without turning around. This minute I 
can see just how Jack stared at Tom; his mouth 
agape, and his eyes as big as saucers. But it was 
only for a moment that they sat looking at one 
another so amazedly, for the next instant they 
jumped to their legs and turned around. 

A burly red-faced man was standing on the crest 
of the white sand hill, his figure sharply marked 


156 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


against the blue sky behind him. His hands were 
thrust deeply into his breeches pockets, and he stood 
with his legs a little apart. He had a short cutty 
pipe betwixt his teeth ; — the bowl was turned topsey- 
turvey, and there was no light in it. When he saw 
that Tom and Jack were looking at him, he spoke 
again, without taking the pipe from out his mouth. 

“Are you fellows the first and second mates of 
the Nancy Hadewood^ privateersman ?” 

Jack nodded his head. 

The man turned and beckoned two or three times, 
and then came slowly and carefully down the steep 
side of the sand dun, half sliding, half stumbling. 
The first thing that he said wdien he came to where 
they were, was : 

“I just tell you what it is, mates; that mess of 
fish smells mighty good.” Then he asked wdiich 
of them was the first mate. 

“ Fm the first mate,” said Jack. 

By this time three or four heads rose above the 
crest of the hill, and a little knot of sailors gathered 
on the top of the dun; then they came jumping 
and sliding and stumbling down to where the others 
were standing. 

But all this time Tom was like one in a dream. 
I think that he must have been dazed by the 
suddenness of the coming of that for which he 
had longed so bitterly and so deeply. He tried to 
realize that they were rescued ; that these men were 
about to take them away; that they were really to 
leave the island that had been their prison for so 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


157 


many long and weary days, and that in a few weeks 
at the furthest, he would be in Eastcaster again, 
and would see Patty, and would be talking with 
her of all these things. Many a time in the silence 
of the lonely night, he had pictured their rescue to 
himself, and in the sleep that followed, he had 
perhaps dreamed that a boat was lying on the beach 
below their hut, and then had wakened to the 
bitterness of its being only a dream. But now that 
rescue had in truth come to them, he could no 
more realize it than you or I can realize that we are 
really to see the other Avorld, some time to come. 
So he stood leaning against the poor old shattered 
cutter that had sheltered Jack and him for so long, 
and as he leaned there he looked about him, won- 
dering dully, whether or not he would not awaken 
in a few minutes and find this too to be only a 
dream. He heard the man who had hailed them, 
telling Jack that he was the first mate of the barque 
Baltimore, of Baltimore, and that they were bound 
for New York from Key West, having run fifty 
miles out of their course to pick them up at this 
island. He heard him ask Jack which one of 
them had set the bladder of porpoise hide adrift, 
that the Baltimoi'e had picked up off the Florida 
coast, and saw that Jack jerked his thumb toward 
him, and that the mate of the Baltimore was 
looking at him, and was saying that it was a 
d — d clever Yankee trick. He saw the sailors 
crowding around, looking here and there ; peeping 
and prying into the doorway of the hut, and talking 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


15S 


amongst themselves. *VBlast my eyes, Tommy, 
look at this here shanty!” “Well, I’m cussed if 
they hain’t got a ship’s boat slung up for a roof I ’ 
“Damme! look at his beard and hair; (this in a 
hoarse whisper) he’s the second mate, Bill; — 
Granger, you know.” 

Then he heard Jack ask the mate of the Baltimore 
for a chew of tobacco. He cut off the piece of the 
plug with his old broken jack-knife, and Tom 
watched him doing it as though it was a matter of 
the greatest moment to him. I can recollect that 
he thought dully how Jack must enjoy his tobacco 
after having been so long without it. 

After a while there was a movement, and he 
heard Jack calling to him to come along, as they 
were all going over to the boat, but it was still in 
the same dazed state that he walked along the 
beach with the others until they came around the 
end of the sand hills, saw the bay open before him, 
and the barque floating like a swan upon the 
smooth surface of the water. A ship’s boat was 
lying high and dry on the sand of the beach, and 
two sailors were sitting in the stern, smoking com- 
fortably and talking together. They tumbled out 
of the boat and stood looking as the others drew 
near, and Tom thought what a strange sight Jack 
and he must be — ragged, tattered, patched, half- 
naked, with beards reaching to their breasts, and 
heads uncovered, excepting for the mat of hair that 
hung as low as their shoulders. He had not 
thought of their looking strange before this. 


-4 


WITHIM THE CAPES. 159 

So they reached the boat, and Tom stood for a 
moment looking down into it and at tlie oars lying 
along the thwarts within. Then he and Jack and 
Mr. Winterbury (the first mate) climbed in and the 
boat was shoved off, grating on the sand as it 
moved into the water. There was a rattle of oars 
dropped into the rowlocks, and then the regular 
“chug! chug!” of the rowing. He looked back 
and saw the island and the beach and the white sand 
hills that he knew so well dropping slowly astern. 
It seemed very strange to be looking at them from 
the ocean. At last they were close to where the 
barque was slowly rising and falling upon the 
heaving of the ground swell that came rolling in 
around the point of the sandy hook beyond. This 
is the way in which their rescue came. 

As they swept under the lee of the barque Mr. 
Winterbuiy stood up in the stern sheets of the 
boat. There were a row of faces looking down at 
them from the forecastle, and two or three sailors 
were standing on the bulwarks, holding on to the 
shrouds. They, too, were looking down into the 
boat. Two men were standing near to the break 
of the poop. One of them was a handsome young 
fellow of about twenty ; the other was a tall, rather 
loose-jointed man, somewhat round-shouldered, and 
a little past the prime of life. He had his hands 
clasped behind him, and he hailed the first mate as 
soon as the cutter came alongside. 

“Did you find them all safe and sound, Mr. 
Winterbury.?’* 


l6o WITHIN THE CAPES, 

Yes, sir ; safe and sound.” 

Mr. Winterbury went up the side first, and Jack 
and Tom followed close at his heels. They were 
met by Captain Williamson as soon as they had 
stepped upon the deck. He shook hands with 
them, and immediately asked tliem to step into the 
cabin, for he must have seen that it was trying to 
them to be stared at by all of the ship’s crew. 
There was a decanter of Madeira and three glasses 
on the cabin table. Captain Williamson bade Tom 
and Jack be seated, and then sat down himself. 
He filled one of the glasses, and then passed the 
decanter to the others, bidding them to fill likewise, 
which they did. 

It may not be out of place here to give you a 
description of Captain Williamson. He was one 
of the skippers of the last century, the like of 
which we rarely, if ever, see nowadays. He was 
part owner in the craft that he sailed, and made a 
good thing of it. He came of an old Annapolis 
family, and was a courteous, kindly, Christian gen- 
tleman, though stiff and formal in his manners. He 
fancied that he looked like General Washington, 
and it was a weakness of his to act and carry him- 
self as nearly as he could after the manner of the 
General, who, by the by, was a distant relative or 
connection, though by marriage, if I mistake not. 
Another weakness of his was a fancy that he would 
have made a great naval captain if he had only had 
the opportunity. 

, As it was^ he had never smelt fighting powder in 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


i6i 

all his life ; nor was he likely to do so, for, though 
no coward, he was cautious and careful in the 
extreme, and would never willingly have entered 
into action, even with a fighting bum-boat. He 
always wore a cocked hat, like an admiral, knee- 
breeches, buckles and pumps, and when he was 
standing still rested mainly on one foot, with his 
hands clasped behind him and the knee of the 
other leg bent, just as General Washington always 
stands in the pictures that one sees of him. 

So he sat now, with one knee crossed over the 
other, very stiff and straight, just as General Wash- 
ington might have sat if he had been sitting in the 
cabin. 

“ May I ask which of you is the first mate ? ” 
said he. 

“ I’m the first mate, sir,” said Jack. 

“Mr. Baldwin, I believe?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“Was it you, sir, who conceived the extremely 
ingenious and clever plan of sending bags or blad- 
ders of porpoise hide afloat, with your condition 
and location inclosed within them ? ” 

“ No, sir,” said Jack, “ it was my mate here,” 
and he chucked his thumb toward Tom. 

“ It was a very clever thought — very clever in- 
deed,” said Captain Williamson, turning to Tom. 
“ How did you get that black substance with which 
it was covered?” 

“We mixed the porpoise blubber with soot,” 
said Tom. 

u 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


162 

The captain nodded his head. *^Very clevef 
indeed,” said he again, it was very efficacious, for 
the bladder was quite covered with the substance 
when we picked it up — so much so, indeed, that my 
fingers were thoroughly befouled in the handling 
of it. And was it you, also, who made the map of 
the island?” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Tom again. 

Then Captain Williamson nodded his head once 
more, and said for the third time : “ Very clever — 
very clever, indeed.” Then he told Tom that the 
Baltimore had picked up the bladder off the Florida 
coast. “It was,” said he, “but fifty miles out of 
my course to come to this island, for I am bound 
for New York harbor. I recognized the situation 
of the island from the plan of it found enclosed in 
the bladder.” 

“ It was a kind and Christian act on your part,” 
said Tom. “ Very few captains would have run 
fifty miles out of their course to pick up two poor 
souls, ’specially while so many British cruisers are 
about. I and my mate — ” 

Here he stopped, for a great lump rose in his 
throat until it seemed to choke him. 

“Tut! tut! tut! tut!|” said Captain Williamson, 
holding up his hand deprecatingly ; “it was no 
more than one Christian man ought to do for 
another. Say no more of that, I beg of you. 
There arc many questions that I wish to ask of you 
in reference to the loss of the Naiicy Hazlcwood, 
but I will not trouble you with questions just at 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


163 

this season. I will beg of you to give such an 
account, however, after you are refreshed with 
clean linen and clothes, and what not.” 

As Captain Williamson paused for a moment 
Tom looked at Jack, and saw that he fidgeted rest- 
lessly in his chair when the other spoke of the 
Nancy Hazlewood. There was a great deal about 
her loss that would be very difficult and very bitter 
to tell. 

In the meantime,” said Captain Williamson, 
resuming his speech, “ you need have no anxiety 
about anything that you may desire to fetch away 
from the island with you, for I have sent a boat 
ashore under my second mate, Mr. Bright. He 
will see that everything is brought safely away 
from your hut or cabin. So, as I said, you need 
have no anxiety on that score.” 

At these words Jack and Tom sprung to their 
feet, for the thought struck them both at once that 
their money would be found, and that in an hour’s 
time every man aboard of the ship would not only 
know that the two castaways had been digging for 
treasure, but would also know where that treasure 
had been found. It would be no secret then, but 
Avould be known to all, and there was no telling 
what such knowledge might bring with it. It was 
a thing that no one but the captain or the chief 
officers of the ship should be aware of just at the 
present time. 

“ Captain Williamson,” cried Jack, “ for the love 
of heaven, don’t let that boat go ashore just yetj 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


164 

Tom, you speak to him, you’re blessed with tlie 
gift of talk ; speak to him, and tell him about the 
mon — , about you know what.” 

“ Yes, captain,” cried Tom, “ for heaven’s sake 
don’t let the boat go ashore till we tell you some- 
thing first.” 

Captain Williamson had also risen to his feet 
He seemed to be very much amazed at their words. 

“ Why not ? Why shouldn’t the boat go ashore ? ” 
said he. “ What does all this mean ? ” 

“ Has the boat left the ship yet, captain ? ” said 
Tom. 

“ Yes ; the boat has left the ship ; but what does 
all this mean, I say ? ” 

“ Then, stop it — call it back ! ” cried Tom. 

Jack was walking up and down, patting his 
clenched fist in his excitement. ” I’ll tell you what 
it means,” he blurted out ; ” it means that there’s 
nigh to nine thousand dollars in silver money in 
that hut, and that the crew of the boat mustn’t find 
it there.” 

“ Nine thousand dollars ! ” repeated Captain Wil- 
liamson ; and then he stopped and .stood glaring at 
the two men as though he doubted he had heard 
aright. 

“ Yes,” said Jack, thumping his fist down on tlie 
table, “ nine thousand dollars, and if you let that 
boat’s crew find it, and find where it came from, 
you’ll be chucking a fortune from your own hands 
into their pockets. For heaven’s sake, stop the 
boat — call it back ! ” 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 165 

Then Captain Williamson stepped quickly to the 
door and flung it open. “ Mr. Winterbury ! ” cried 
he, sharply. 

“ Aye, aye, sir ! ” 

“ Call the cutter back ! 

“ Call the — ” 

“ Call the cutter back ! 

Aye, aye, sir ! ” 

There was a pause, and then Tom and Jack 
heard the bellow of the mate’s voice in the trumpet : 

“ Cutter ahoy-y-y-y ! ” 

Captain Williamson stood with his head out of 
the cabin door, and presently they heard him ask : 

“ Do they hear you, sir?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Then signal them back.” 

” Aye, aye, sir ! ” 

Then Captain Williamson drew in his head, shut- 
ting the door carefully, and resumed his seat. He 
passed his hand over his face, and crossed his 
knees, and then put on his Washingtonian air 
again. I think that he was half ashamed of the 
excitement that had driven him out of it a moment 
before. 

” Now, Mr. Granger,” said he, “ since Mr. Baldwin 
has called upon you to be the spokesman, will you 
tell me what all this means ?” 

” Yes, sir; I will,” said Tom. “Of course, you 
will have to know everything, after what has 
passed ; but I should have told you of it anyhow, 
for I put much trust in your honor.” 


166 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


“You are perfectly right to do so,” said Captain 
Williamson. “ Sit down, if you please.” 

Then the two sat down again, and Tom began 
his story. Captain Williamson did not say a word 
to interrupt him, but every now and then he looked 
sharply from Tom to Jack, and from Jack back 
again to Tom. He sat with his elbows on the 
arms of his chair, and the tips of his fingers just 
touching each other ; but he did not move a muscle, 
exceptrng as he turned his head when he looked 
first at one, and then at the other. 

At last Tom had made an end of the story. Cap- 
tain Williamson did not move for a second or two, 
but he sat just as he had been doing all along. Then 
he drew a deep breath, and arose from his chair. He 
took a turn or two up and down the cabin ; then he 
stopped suddenly in front of Tom and Jack. 

” This is an extraordinary — a most extraordinary 
tale,” said he. “ I never heard the like in all my 
life. It’s like a tale in a romance, and I can 
scarcely believe that I have heard aright. That 
you should find a treasure on this — ” 

Here he stopped abruptly and looked sharply 
from one to the other. ” Surely, there can be 
nothing false and underhand in all this,” he said. 

“ I suppose the .story does sound strange to you,” 
said Tom. “ I reckon that it’s because we’re so 
used to it that it don’t seem as though it ought to 
be strange. It’s the truth, though, captain. There 
wouldn’t be any use in our telling you a lie, for 
you can easily prove the truth of it for yourself.” 


Within the capes. 


167 

**True, true,’’ said he, and then he began walking 
up and down tlie cabin again. “ What do you 
intend to do about the matter now?” said he, 
stopping for a moment, and turning to the others. 

Tom and Jack looked at one another. 

“ I’ll leave the whole thing to you, Tom,” said 
Jack. “ It was you who found the money — at 
least, it was you that found out where it was. I 
suppose it ought all to belong to you, by rights.” 

” That’s all nonsense. Jack,” said Tom. “ It was 
you who found it first; but even if you hadn’t, 
we’re mates, and it’s share and share alike between 
us.” 

Well, I reckon that’s no more than fair,” said 
Jack, “ but it don’t matter in this case ; I’ll leave 
the whole thing to you.” 

Tom sat lost in thought for a few moments. At 
last he spoke : I’d make this proposal,” said he ; 
“that we put the whole thing in the hands of 
Captain Williamson, leaving him to do what he 
thinks best in the matter, only having him guaran- 
tee to share all gains that shall come from it with 
us. It seems to me that we certainly owe as much 
as this to him, and that it’s the least that we can do. 
What do you think. Jack?” 

Jack hesitated for a moment. “ Well,” said he, 
“ I suppose that it’s no more than what’s right.” 

“ I think not,” said Tom. “ What do you say 
about it, captain ? ” 

“ It’s for you to say,” said Captain Williamson. 
“ Of course. I’ll be glad to go into the matter with 


i68 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


you, but I wish you to understand that I don’t 
want you to feel that any money is due me because 
T ran a few miles out of my course to pick you up. 
That was no more than one man could be expected 
to do for another. If I come into this, it must be 
on purely business grounds, and not as a gift of 
gratitude from you.” 

“ Very well,” said Tom. “ What do you think 
would be fair terms between us?” 

“ If you have no objections, I would like to talk 
with my first mate about it,” said Captain William- 
son. 

Jack and Tom looked at one another again. 

“ Do you think that there’s any special need of 
his knowing about it ? ” said Jack. “ It seems to 
me that we’re taking in a good many. It’s all 
right that you should share with us, seeing that 
you’ve treated us in such a handsome manner. I 
acknowledge that very few captains would have 
sailed out of their course in times of war for the 
sake of picking up a couple of poor, shipwrecked 
devils, with nothing to be gained by it, and, apart 
from the business part of it, I think likely that wc 
owe that much to you ; but I don’t see why the 
mate should be taken in, too.” 

” I don’t know that he will expect to be ‘ taken 
in,’ ” said Captain Williamson, somewhat coldly, 
” but I think that you’ll find his advice in the matter 
will be of help to you. You may rely upon it that 
the secret will be as safe with him as it will be with 


me. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 169 

“All right,” said Jack; “if Tom don’t care, I 
don’t, either.” 

So Mr. Winterbury was called into the cabin, and 
Tom told the story of the finding of the treasure 
all over again. 

“ What do you think of it, Mr. Winterbury?” said 
Captain Williamson, when Tom had ended. 

“ I think it’s the most extraordinary yarn that 
ever I heard in all my life.” 

“ Exactly my thought. And now, if ]\Ir. Baldwin 
and Mr. Granger will excuse us for a moment or two, 
I would like to have a few words with you outside.” 

Then they went out, and Jack and Tom were left 
alone. 

“ It seems to me that you did rather too much, 
Tom,” said Jack. 

“ I think it was as little as we could do,” said 
Tom. ‘‘ They’ve sailed fifty miles out of their 
course to pick us up, without expecting so much as 
a red cent for it, so I think it was as little as we 
could do.” 

“ Oh, all right; I’m not finding fault,” said Jack. 

“ I don’t mean to find any fault at all ; I was only 
giving you my notion about it. I’m satisfied.” 

But it was very plain, from the way in which 
he spoke, that he was not satisfied. 

In a little while Captain Williamson and Mr. 
Winterbury came into the cabin again. Then the 
captain asked a number of questions about the 
wreck — how much of it they had already uncovered, 
etc., etc. 


170 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


“ WeVe uncovered a little less than one quarter 
of it, I should judge/’ said Tom, looking to Jack 
for confirmation. 

Jack nodded his head. 

Then Captain Williamson told them what his 
idea was about it. That he did not think that the 
wreck was that of a treasure ship, as they had not 
found money enough in it for that ; that he had no 
doubt that the vessel had been carrying newly- 
minted money to some one of the Spanish provinces 
when she had been cast on the beach — probably 
in a south-easterly gale. From what they had 
already found, he thought that there might have 
been from forty to fifty thousand dollars in her all 
together, and that there might be from thirty to 
forty thousand dollars yet left under the sand. He 
said that he would undertake to find the rest of the 
money, and that he would send or take out a ship 
stocked with provisions for that purpose, the expense 
of which he would bear himself. That all wages 
and expenses above that should be paid out of the 
money that they should find, and that the net gain 
should be shared equally between them, each taking 
a third. “ Or,” said he, in conclusion, I will buy 
either or both of your interests out, accepting all the 
risks myself I will give you each six thousand dol- 
lars for your share in the venture, for which I offer a 
note payable at ninety days, with safe indorsement.” 
He then said that he would give them a week to 
think over the offer he had made, and would be glad 
to hear anything that they might have to propose. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


17t 


I will say here, that at the end of a week they 
had made up their minds to run their chances of 
what might be found, and that it paid them to do so. 

A little later in the morning Captain Williamson 
and Mr. Winterbury and Jack and Tom went ashore 
in the captain s gig. They left the gig and the crew 
of it a little distance up the beach, while they four 
walked down to the hut, Tom and Jack carrying a 
small sea-chest between them, in which to store the 
money that was hidden under a pile of brush-wood 
in the cabin. Then they went out on the sand-spit 
to inspect the wreck, and Captain Williamson 
renewed the offer that he had made in the cabin of 
the Baltmiore, and said again that they might take 
a week to think it over. 

Then they tore down the breakwater that Tom 
and Jack had built, so that the sea might make in 
during the next storm, and so hide the work that 
they had done. After this they went back to the 
gig, and Captain Williamson sent four of the men 
to the hut for the chest of money. 

So, at last, their life upon the island came to an 
end. 

They had a safe and quick journey home, entering 
Sandy Hook on the 20th of the month. They 
were quarantined for a couple of days through some 
delay, and landed in New York on the 23d. 

During the voyage home. Jack gave Captain 
Williamson an account of the loss of the Hazlc- 
luood. The captain looked very serious over it ; he 
did not say anything, but he shook his head. He 


172 


\\rITHIN THE CAPES. 


evidently thought that it was a very shady piece of 
business. 

The day after they landed in New York, Jack 
and Tom took stage to Philadelphia, which they 
reached a little after noon of the 26th. 

You all know what followed The Board of 
Trade appointed a committee to inquire into the 
circumstances of the loss of the ship Nancy Hazlc- 
wood. Tom did not write a letter home, because 
he expected that every day would be his last in 
town; but the investigation dragged along until 
more than a week had been consumed by the 
committee. 

Both Tom and Jack were blamed, because that 
they had come off with their lives, while the captain 
and most of the crew had gone down in the ship. 
Mr. Blakie, of the firm of Blakie & Howard, said 
some particularly bitter and cutting things, which 
might have stung Tom very sharply if he had not 
felt that, by rights, there was not much blame rest- 
ing upon him. 

Mr. Blakie’s words were meant as much for him 
as they were for Jack, for it was not known that 
Tom had been taken off the vessel against his will. 
Jack' did not breathe a word of this, and Tom was 
too proud to seem to want to slip from under the 
blame, and leave Jack to bear it all. Jack did not 
say in so many words that Tom had joined him in 
deserting the ship in the cutter, but what he did say 
would have led any reasonable man to infer as 
much. It is quite natural that a man should dislike 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


173 


to carry all of a load of blame on his own shoulders, 
and there is a great satisfaction in knowing that 
others share the burden; at the same time, it would 
have been a good thing for Tom, if Jack had spoken 
out and told the whole truth, for, as it turned out, 
it weighed in the balance against him when every 
scruple told. 

But at last the committee dismissed Tom, and he 
was free to go ; little he cared then of their favor- 
able or unfavorable opinion, for the time had come 
when he might go home. 

There was just time to catch the morning stage 
for Eastcaster, and in half an hour he was rumbling 
out of Philadelphia, mounted, pipe in mouth, on 
the outside of the Union stage, with his boxes and 
bundles safely stowed away in the boot. 





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CHAPTER XIV. 


I T seemed to Tom, now that he was fairly on the 
homeward road, as though the wheels of the 
stage were weighted with lead, and as though the 
horses that dragged it crawled at a snail’s pace, for 
his hopes and his longing for home outstripped a 
thousand fold the rate of his traveling. 

To P., 1 8 M. — 14 M. to E. ; to P., 19 M. — 13 M. 
to E. ; to P., 20 M. — 12 M. to P^. So passed the 
milestones in succession, and Tom counted every 
one as they rumbled by it. But at last it was 2 M. 
to E., and a steep hill lay in front of them ; it was 
the last hill between him and home. 

Tom had taken the Union line of stages, which 
did not, like the E^iterprise line, run on to Downey- 
ville, but stopped at Eastcaster. The driver of 
“ No. 3 ” was a stranger to Tom ; old Willy Wilkes 
had heretofore driven the stage as long as he could 
remember. 

“Where’s old Willy \Vilkes?’’ said Tom, soon 
after they had left Philadelphia. 

The strange driver let fly an amber stream of 
tobacco juice over the side of the coach, and an- 
swered, briefly, “ Dead.” 


12 


177 


178 


Within the capes. 


“ Dead!” 

“Ya-as. Caught cold last spring and died in 
June ; ” then, with some curiosity, “ Did you know 
him ? ” 

“ Yes, I knew him,” said Tom, briefly. Here was 
the first change, and it threw a cloud over him ; 
was he to find other changes as great ? He had 
only been gone a year and a half, but it seemed to 
him as though it might have been ten years. There 
was a pause of a few minutes, and the new driver of 
“ No. 3 ” looked furtively at Tom from out the 
corners of his eyes. Tom had not cut off his beard, 
and his hair had turned iron grey in the last five 
months ; he knew that he was greatly changed. 

It was Tom's beard that seemed to catch the 
driver’s eye, for folks went clean-shaven in those 
days. 

“ I allow you’re from foreign parts,” said he, at 
last. 

“ Yes ; I’m from foreign parts,” said Tom, shortly. 
Nothing more was said between them after this. 
Tom sat buried in thoughts and the driver sat chew- 
ing vigorously at his quid of tobacco, looking stead- 
fastly over the leader’s ears the whiles. 

So they began the slow climbing of the last 
hill ; they reached the top of the rise, and then 
the country lay spread out before them, hill and 
valley, field, meadow-land and wood, all brown 
and golden in the mellow autumn sunlight. The 
houses clustered more thickly about the village, and 
over the rusting foliage peeped the white spire of 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


179 


St. James’ Church. A lump arose in Tom’s throat 
at the sight of the dear old place, and his eyeballs 
felt hot and dry. Then a keen and sudden thrill 
shot through him, for, away beyond the village and 
over to the right, he could see the yellow sunlight 
shining on the white walls of a house. Close to it 
stood an old stone mill and back of it was an apple 
orchard. Then Tom felt, indeed, that his darling 
was near to him. 

The driver gathered up his reins. ‘‘ Click ! ” 
said he, and the coach dashed down the hill, and 
house and mill were hidden from Tom’s sight. 
So they reached the level road and went rumbling 
along it ; they turned the corner and Eastcaster was 
before them. The scattered houses grew thicker 
and thicker ; they turned another corner sharply 
and were in Market street. 

Everything was the same as when Tom had last 
seen them : trees, houses, stores, people, everything. 
Shipwreck, death, loneliness and misery had been 
around him for a year and a half, and yet Eastcaster 
was the same as though he had not come back to 
it through the valley of the shadow of death. It 
seemed strange to him that it should be so ; it w^as 
as though he had left everything but yesterday. 
Here was Pepperill’s store, there the blacksmith 
shop. They passed Parkinson’s tobacco store; a 
number of men were sitting on chairs around the 
door in the sunshine. They looked up at the 
stage with dull interest. Tom knew them all, but 
pot one of them recognized him. A little further 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


180 

along, on the opposite side of the street, was Mr. 
Moor’s office. As they rumbled by it, Tom saw 
that two men were standing at the window looking 
absently into the street ; one of them was Mr. Moor, 
the other was Isaac Naylor. A thrill darted through 
him when he saw Isaac Naylor; it was strange 
that the sight of his former rival should seem to 
bring Patty so near to him. The two men looked 
at the stage as it passed, but they saw nothing, for 
their minds were evidently fixed upon other things. 
Mr. Moor was talking, looking anxious and wor- 
ried ; Isaac Naylor was listening, cold and impas- 
sive. 

Tom noticed this in the moment that he was 
passing. 

Then the stage stopped, for it was in front of the 
Crown and Angel, and Black Jim — the identical 
Black Jim that Tom had left a year and a half 
ago, who was standing out in the road, waiting the 
coming of the stage — loosened the straps at the 
horses’ necks. The passengers tumbled out from 
the inside, and Tom got down from the box, and 
stood looking about him. There were a group of 
loungers sitting along the tavern porch in the 
warm sunlight; their feet on the railing, and their 
chairs tilted back. Tom knew nearly all of them, 
but they did not recognize him; — he never fully 
realized till then, how changed he was in his 
appearance. Even Mrs. Bond, the landlady, who 
was standing at the door with her hands under her 
apron, did not know him. 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


i8l 

Some one came walking along the street and 
stopped, for a moment, to look at the stage — it was 
Will Gaines. “ He’ll know me, at least,” said Tom, 
to himself, but he did not; he looked at Tom, but 
there was no other light than that of curiosity in 
his eyes. 

“Will,” said he, at last; “Will Gaines, don’t you 
know me ?” 

Then sudden recognition flashed into Will’s face. 
He stood for a moment as though bereft of speech; 
then he strode forward, and clutched Tom by the 
shoulder. 

“ My God ! Tom Granger; is it — is it you ? They 
said you were dead ! I — I — ” Then he stopped, 
and Tom felt his hands trembling as they lay on 
his shoulders. 

“Dead !” said Tom, after a moment of silence. 

“Yes, Tom; dead.” 

“ But I’m not dead,” said Tom, smiling, and try- 
ing to shake off the feeling that was creeping over 
him. 

“Don’t! Don’t talk that way, Tom,” said Will; 
“ don’t make so light of it. Your father had a 
letter from Lovejoy & Co., of Philadelphia. It was 
nearly a year ago, now; the letter said that your 
ship had been lost, no one knew how or where. 
Tom,” — here he stopped abruptly — “ Come into the 
tavern, Tom,” said he. 

As they went up the tavern steps and entered the 
door, the loungers stared at them with wide-opened 
eyes. They did not recognize him, but a stranger 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


182 

was an object of interest in the town in those days. 
Will hurried him into the house, and Mrs. Bond 
showed them into the parlor. There was some- 
thing so odd in Will’s manner, that the feeling of 
fear grew heavier and heavier on Tom’s spirit — the 
first words that he spoke, were: 

“ Will, how’s Patty ?” 

Will did not answer immediately, and Tom, 
glancing quickly up, saw that he was looking 
earnestly at him. 

There was a moment of dead silence, through 
which sounded the clicking of the dishes being 
washed in the out kitchen of the tavern. 

“Will, how’s Patty?” said Tom, again, and he 
himself noticed what a sharp ring there was in his 
voice. ” Why don’t you speak ? What’s the 
matter? How’s Patty?” 

“Patty?” 

“Yes; Patty.” 

“Patty? Oh! Patty ’sail right.” 

Tom looked at him very keenly. His heart was 
crumbling within him, though he could not tell 
why. He felt faint and ill, and leaned heavily on 
the table near him. He looked out of the window, 
watching Black Jim watering the stage horses at 
the trough in the stable-yard; then, without looking 
back at Will, he steadied himself for the next ques- 
tion. 

“ I’m no coward. Will,” said he ; “ you see I’ve 
gone through enough this year to turn my hair 
grey, and I’m no coward now, if I ever was before, 


WiTHtN THE CAPES. 

t want you to tell me the truth ; is — is Patty 
dead ? 

“ Dead ! No ; of course she isn’t dead. She 
was very much broken down when she heard of the 
loss of the ship that you sailed in; but she’s all 
right now, — ^well and hearty.” 

“ And she’s not sick — nothing the matter with 
her?” 

” Nothing.” 

Tom put his hand to his forehead, for things were 
swimming around him ; then he gave a short laugh, 
but there was a quaver in it. “You frightened me 
pretty badly, Will,” said he ; '‘I don’t deny that I 
felt as though you were dragging my heart out by 
the roots.” 

See here, Tom, you don't look well,” said Will ; 
“ let me call for a glass of brandy for you.” 

‘‘I don’t want any brandy; I wouldn’t mind 
having a drop of water, though.” There was a 
pitcher standing on the table beside him ; he tilted 
it and looked into it and saw that there was water 
in it ; then he raised it to his lips and took a deep 
draught of it. “ What did you scare me so for ? ” 
he said, half angrily, turning on Will again. 

“ I didn’t mean to scare you, Tom,” said the 
other; then he hesitated for a moment or two. 
“ Look here, Tom,” said he, “you’d better go home; 
your mother has something to tell you. Your 
father was in town not half an hour ago ; I saw him 
at Bradle>'’s blacksmith sliop. I wish to heavens 
you’d been a little sooner ; you might have ridden 


j84 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


out home with him. If you’ll wait a bit, I’ll slip 
over and borrow uncle’s gig and drive you home.” 

“I don’t want to wait; I’ll walk,” said Tom. 
Then, ‘ Look here, Will ; what are you so anxious 
for me to go straight home for?” 

“What makes you think that I’m anxious?” 

“ You ain’t answering my question. Will Gaines.’' 

“ I have no reason for wanting you to go straight 
home, except that I suppose your folks’ll want to 
see you.” 

“ Is that all ? ” said Tom, looking sharply at the 
other. 

“ Yes.” 

Tom looked at him a little wLile longer, and 
then he turned away. He did not believe Will, but 
he saw that nothing more was to be gotten out of 
him. 

“ I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Will, presently, 
“ you walk on out home, and I’ll go over and get 
uncle’s gig and drive after you, and pick you up. 
It won’t do to run in on your people without their 
knowing of your coming. Your mother ought to 
know of it before she sees you.” 

This was all very true, though Tom felt that 
Will’s plan was laid in order to secure his going 
home without stopping. He said nothing of his 
thoughts, however, but left the tavern, and started 
for home. 

He walked briskly along the dusky turnpike 
road, but there was a dull feeling of unhappiness 
resting upon his heart, for Will’s words, and looks, 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 1 8 3 ’ 

and tones, all told him that there was something 
wrong. So he came at last to the foot of the hill, 
where the turnpike road crosses Stony-Brook by 
the old county bridge. On the other side of the 
stream is a by-road that leads off from the highway 
and runs through the woods. Tom knew it well, 
for it was the old mill road, and led to Elihu Pen- 
rose’s house. Many a time had he walked it, and 
well he knew every bend and turn of it. The last 
time he had passed along it his heart had beaten 
high with love, and hope, and high resolve, albeit 
there was the bitterness of a coming parting lurking 
at the bottom of it. When he came to the spot 
where the mill road opens on the pike he stood 
still, and, as he stood, all the fear that had rested 
upon him since his homecoming seemed to gather 
and intensify into a dark and nameless dread. 
What had happened ? What could it all mean ? 

As his fears grew stronger his love waxed 
stronger with them. He looked back along the 
turnpike road — there was no signs of Will Gaines. 
Why should he go home, and not see his own dear 
love the first of all ? “ God bless her ! ” said he, 

with quivering lips, “ I’ll not go home first; I’ll go 
and see her — my darling ! ” 

So he left the highway, and walked down the road 
through the woods. The brown leaves that were 
beginning to fall rustled beneath his feet, and the 
yellow patches of sunlight slid over his head and 
shoulders as he walked beneath the shadow of the 
grey trees along the roadside. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


1 86 

Then he came out of the woods and into the open 
sunlight again. Now he was on the grass-bordered 
foot-path ; on one side of him was the white dusty 
road, and on the other the mill-race, with the row 
of pollard willows standing along it. In front of 
him were the white walls of the mill-house, with 
the vines clustered around the end of the old well- 
remembered porch, just as he had seen them last. 
As he came closer he saw a slender girl’s figure 
sitting in a high-backecj rocking chair, half hidden 
by the net-work of the vines around her. 

It was Patty. 

Tom’s heart gave a great leap within him; then 
stood still, and then began to beat furiously. He 
paused for a moment, gazing at her, his hand 
resting on the top of the picket fence in front of 
the garden ; then he went forward again, but very 
slowly. 

She was sitting bent over some sewing that lay 
spread out on her lap. He stood for a second or 
two at the green gate that led up to the porch, and 
then he laid his hand on the latch. At the click 
of the latch Patty raised her head, and Tom saw 
that she, like others that he had met, did not know 
him. 

She arose and stood watching him as he came 
slowly up the path ; his heart beating as though it 
would smother him. 

He reached the porch ; — one step, — ^two steps, — 
three steps, — and he stood upon it and looked at 
her. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


187 

Then he saw a strange frightened look come 
slowly into her eyes; she reached out her hand and 
laid it on the top of the rocking chair near to her. 

“Patty!” 

There was a space of dead silence, through which 
Tom heard and noticed the sound of rushing water 
and the clattering of the mill. He did not go a step 
forward, for, as he looked at her, there was that in 
her face that chilled him through and through — it 
was as though a gulf had opened between them. 

Her face was as white as death, and Tom saw the 
fingers of the hand that rested on the top of the 
rocking chair, quivering nervously. She moistened 
her lips with her tongue, and at last she spoke, but 
in a hoarse whisper, and so low that he could 
hardly hear the matter of the words : 

“Tom — ^Tom — Oh, my God, Tom ! is that thee?” 

“Yes, Patty; it’s me! I’ve come back to thee 
after a sorely long time ! Why don’t thee speak — 
why don’t thee say something to me ? What’s the 
matter, Patty?” 

“ Wait — wait — let me think ! ” said she, putting 
her finger to her forehead, “they all told me that 
thee was dead — they said that thee was drowned. 
Can dead people come back again ? ” 

“Patty! Patty!” cried Tom, “my own darling! 
tell me; what does this mean?” 

By this time the tears were running in streams 
down her pale cheeks ; she made no effort to wipe 
them away, and did not seem to know that they 
were flowing. 


i88 


WITHIN TUN CAPES. 


“What is the matter? — Patty, tell me,” said Tom, 
again. 

“ Oh, Tom ! I — I — am going to be married 
to-morrow ! ” 

I do not know how long it was that Tom stood 
there, staring blankly at her. His throat was dry 
and husky, and he felt the muscles of his face 
twitching every now and then. It was Patty who 
broke the silence. 

“ Tom ! ” she cried, in a choking voice ; “ dear Tom ! 
don’t look at me in that way — thee breaks my heart ! 
Say something kind to me, Tom — speak to me ! ” 

“ Who’s thee going to — who’s the man, Patty ?” 
said Tom, dully. 

“ Isaac Naylor. Oh, Tom ! I was urged to it so 
that I couldn’t help myself They all told me that 
thee was dead. Even thy mother said thee was 
drowned ! ” 

The muscles of Tom’s throat had tightened until 
he felt as though he was choking. He stood as 
though uncertain what to do, for a little while; then 
he said, “I — I guess I’d better go — go home, now; 
there’s no use my staying any — any longer.” Then 
he turned away and went stumbling blindly down 
the porch steps. He reached the gate and fumbled 
for a little while, hunting for the latch; then he 
opened it and went out into the road. There were 
a few chickens dusting themselves in the path ; he 
stood looking stupidly at them for a little while, his 
hands hanging limp at his sides. Then he turned 
and walked heavily away, without looking back. 


CHAPTER XV. 


T om granger walked along, scarcely know- 
ing where he was going. After a while he 
stopped and looked about him, and he saw that he 
was standing in the road not far from the highway. 
Around him was the silent woods ; in front of him 
was the sunny highroad, about three hundred paces 
farther on. He felt that he could not go out into it 
just now. He flung himself down on the grassy 
roadside, burying his face in his arms, giving him- 
self up utterly to the despair that was upon him. 
No sound broke the silence of the autumn wood- 
land but the gurgle of the rocky brook across the 
road, the sudden rustle of the trees as the breeze 
rushed through them now and then, and the rattling 
of the dead leaves stirred by a breath of air. 

Tom lay heeding nothing, thinking nothing, for 
his heart was too full of the bitterness of his troubles 
to give place to aught else. How long he lay 
there he cannot tell ; that which aroused him was 
the sound of footsteps coming down the road from 
the highway. Then he sprang to his feet, for he 
could not bear that any one should find him lying 
there. He saw that it was Isaac Naylor who was 

189 


190 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 

coming. Then Tom strode out into the road and 
stood directly in front of him, so that the other 
could not pass him. 

“Does thee know who I am, Isaac Naylor?’' 
said he ; then, without waiting for an answer, “ I’m 
Tom Granger ! ” 

Maybe the Friend’s face grew a trifle whiter than 
it was used to be ; nevertheless, he stood his ground, 
though he looked around and behind him, as 
though to see whether any help was near to him in 
case that the need for it should arise. I have no 
doubt but that Tom’s face was white, his eyes 
bloodshot, and that he looked wicked and danger- 
ous as he stood in the pathway in front of the 
other. For a while Isaac stood with bent head and 
with hands that trembled a little clasped in front of 
him. But presently he raised his face and looked 
calmly into Tom’s eyes. 

“ I heard in town that thee had come back, 
Thomas,” said he, “ and I was both glad and sorry 
to hear it. I was glad that the Good Father had 
spared thy life and sorry that thee had come back 
just now. I see where thee’s been and I know 
what thee’s heard. I’m sorry — very sorry.” 

Tom steadied himself for a moment before he 
spoke. When he replied, it was in a heavy, monoto- 
nous voice: “Yes; I’ve been to see Patty and 
she’s told me all. I do believe it’ll break her 
heart. Poor girl ! poor girl ! ” Then he stopped 
for a moment. Hitherto he had spoken in a low, 
dull voice ; but as he thought of Patty’s grief, his 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


191 


self-restraint gave way and he burst out passion- 
ately, “ She’s mine, Isaac Naylor — she’s mine ! She 
loves me and no other man in all the world ! By 
the eternal, neither thee nor any other man shall 
take her from me ! I’ll let no man take her from 
me ; I don’t care who he may be ! ” 

He waved his hands about furiously as he spoke, 
clapping his palms together and pouring the words 
out upon one another in a torrent. Isaac Naylor 
must have had some fear that Tom would do him a 
harm in his passion, for he stepped a pace back. 
“ Come, come, Thomas ! ” said he, soothingly ; 
** don’t be violent ; I’ve done thee no harm — at least. 
I’ve done thee no witting harm. Every one said 
that thee was dead ; even thy own people said so. 
Go thy ways, Thomas, and let me go mine in peace. 
Come ; let me past ! ” 

“ No, by G-d ! Thee’ll not go a step from this 
till I let thee. Thee shan’t see Patty this day! 
She’s mine and no other man shall have her for his 
wife I Will thee give her up to me, Isaac Naylor ? 
Will thee give her up ? Will thee give her up, I 
say?” 

Every time he repeated this he came a step 
forward and Isaac moved a step back. Tom was 
more than half crazy with his fury and the Friend 
seemed very anxious and looked back at the road. 

** Thomas ! Thomas ! ” said he, “ don’t be violent ; 
be reasonable ; how could I make thee any such 
promise as that ? Let me past, I must see Patty \ 
there’s reason why I must see her now/’ 


192 


WITHIN THF CAPES. 


thee give my darling back to me again?” 

“ I tell thee, Thomas, it can’t be done. I cannot 
do it!” 

“Thee won’t do it?” Tom stepped forward as 
he spoke, waving his fist threateningly, and again 
Isaac stepped backward before him, until he stood 
against the fence at the roadside, and could go no 
farther; his face was very white now, and he was in 
deadly terror. “ Let me go, Thomas,” said he, in a 
trembling voice; “let me go — I’ll not go to Patty; 
I’ll go back home again.” As he spoke he made a 
movement to turn, as though to escape. 

Tom’s head was in a mad whirl; there was a 
ringing in his ears, and bright sparks danced and 
swam before his eyes. “ By the eternal ! thee’ll 
never leave this place, Isaac Naylor,” cried he, in a 
terrible voice. 

Then Isaac gave a shrill cry — “Help! Help!’' 
As the words left his lips, Tom leaped upon him, 
and graopled with him. He struggled furiously, 
and Tuni heard him give another sharp and terrible 
cry. Tom twisted his fingers into the Friend’s 
neckerchief, and, after that he made no other noise 
but a half-choked, strangling gurgle. Tom dragged 
him backward, and flung him down upon his knees. 
There was a rough-knotted stake lying by him; it 
was a part of a fence rail. He picked it up and 
raised it to strike. 

I thank the Lord that his reason came back to 
liim when it did. Another moment, and he would 
have been beating the life out of the poor terrified 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


193 


wretch at his knee. But suddenly, as though a 
cloud passed from before his eyes, he saw the white 
horror-struck face, the parted lips, and the staring 
eyes that were glaring up at him. Then he gave 
a cry so sharp that it rang in his own ears, and 
flinging down the stake, loosened his hold on Isaac. 

He stood for a moment staring at the Friend, 
who staggered to his feet, and then sank down on a 
great rock that lay near to them, swaying this way 
and that, as though he were about to faint. Then 
Tom turned and ran. 

The next minute he was out in the highroad. 

Beside the bridge was a shallow pool, through 
which folks drove their teams in the summer time, 
and where they often stopped to water their horses. 
There was a black horse standing in the shallow 
now, and a man was sitting upon its back. Tom 
looked up as he ran out into the road, and saw that 
it was Mr. Moor. 

Mr. Moor’s eyes were fixed upon his own with a 
very singular look, and it struck Tom how white 
his face was. But all this he saw only in one quick 
glance, for he turned the corner of the road, and 
ran toward home without stopping. There was a 
long and steep hill in front of him, and before he 
reached the top he fell into a walk, for he was 
panting and laboring for breath. After a while he 
reached the crest of the hill, and before him lay a 
level stretch of road; some distance along it he 
could see the tall cedars that stood around the old 
homestead farm-house. At last he came to where 
13 


T/t.^ cAPJ^^. 


m 

the long lane ran winding down from the house 
amongst the maple and ailanthus trees, and opened 
on the turnpike road through a gate that always 
stood open. Then Tom broke into a run again; up 
the lane he went, and so came at last to the paved 
porch at the back of the house, noticing as he 
passed, that Will Gaines' horse and gig were 
standing beside the horse block across the road. 
Then he burst into the house, and into the best 
room. 

All of the shutters were bowed but one, which 
was half opened, giving a faint light into the dark- 
ened room. Tom’s father and mother, his sister 
Susan, and his two elder brothers and Will Gaines 
were all there. His mother was sitting in a rocking 
chair, the tears running down her pale face, and 
Susan was fanning her with a palm-leaf fan. Will 
Gaines had told them of his coming, and Tom 
afterward found that his mother had fainted, and 
had only just recovered from her swoon. 

“ Mother ! ” cried he, and he ran to her and flung 
himself on his knees in front of her, burying his 
face in her lap, while great sobs shook him through 
and through. 

No one spoke for a long time, but Tom felt his 
mother’s soft touch smoothing his hair. I think 
that they were all weeping at that time. I know 
that Susan was crying on the corner of the sofa, 
where she had flung herself, burying her face in the 
cushion. It was Will Gaines who spoke first. 

“ I guess ril go now,” said he, in a broken voice ; 


WITHIN THE CAPES. IQS 

and Tom presently heard him shutting trie door 
softly behind him. 

Then another space of dead silence followed, 
broken only by Susan’s catching breath. At last 
Tom’s mother spoke. 

“ Where has thee been, Thomas?” said she. 

“ I’ve been to see Patty, mother.” 

” Oh, Tom ! Tom ” cried Susan ; and Tom could 
feel his mother’s hand trembling as it rested upon his 
head. Presently she spoke in an unsteady voice : 

“ Leave us for a little while, father; it’ll be best — 
just for a little while.” 

Then the others went out, and they were left 
alone. Tom told all about his meeting with Patty, 
in broken and disconnected words. Every" now 
and then he would stop, for there were times when 
the words that he sought to say would not come. 
He felt that his mother was crying, though she was 
crying silently. It was good for him to tell all of 
his troubles, for there are times when our sorrows 
gather upon us like great w'aters, that will over- 
whelm the soul if they do not find an outlet* in 
speech. 

Tom’s mother knew of the comfort that words 
bring with them, so she let him talk on, without 
saying anything herself. When he had ended, she 
spoke gentle and loving w"ords to him, though she 
could give him no hope. 

“ I wish that I’d not seen Patty,” said Tom ; 
“ I wish that I’d come straight home as Will told 
Pie to do. Why didn’t he tell me of all this ? ” 


196 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


“I suppose that he couldn’t bring himself to 
do it.” 

“ I wish I’d not seen her,” said Tom, again. 

” It’s too late for wishing now,” said his mother. 

Nothing more was said between them, and both 
knew that the marriage must be gone through with 
now. The time had been fixed for the wedding. 
It was for eleven o’clock the next morning. The 
friends had all been asked, the new house was 
furnished, the linen provided, and even Patty’s 
dresses made. It could not be stopped without 
great scandal to all concerned. If only he had not 
come back again. Then Patty would have been 
married quietly to a man whom she could respect, 
if not love, and her life would not have been with- 
out contentment. But now that she had seen him, 
what contentment could she have, loving him and 
marrying another man ? 

At last they quitted the room together ; but the 
first bitterness had passed and gone. The first one 
whom he met was Susan. She flung her arms 
around his neck and kissed him, the tears brimming 
in her eyes as she did so. 

“ Dear, dear Tom,” said she, and Tom knew from 
the tone of her voice that she was thinking of Patty, 
though her name had not been spoken bet^vixt 
them. 

” Don’t, Susan,” said he, huskily, for his heart 
was still very sore. 

Then his father came and shook hands with him, 
as did William also, and presently John came over 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


197 


from the barnyard and joined them. This was all 
of the family that were at home, for Henry was in a 
store in Lancaster and Mary was visiting friends in 
Chester. 

Friends, of the old times especially, were a 
restrained, self-repressed people, giving but little 
freedom to the flow of natural feeling. Tom’s 
father and his brothers had been moved — deeply 
moved ; but now, when they came forward to shake 
him by the hand, excepting for the closeness of the 
grip that they gave him and the firmness of the 
pressure of palm to palm, no one would have 
thought that he had returned to them as the dead 
might return from the grave. It was, so far as any 
outward forms were concerned, as though he had 
but just come home after a two weeks’ absence. 

After a few hesitating words of welcome, the 
men folks sat down and Tom began telling of 
those things that had befallen him in the year and 
a half past. He spun his yarn pretty steadily, 
though every now and then he would stop in his 
speech, for as he told of the finding of the money 
on tlie island, his words brought before him all of 
those hopes that had borne him up through the 
toil ; then a rush of feeling would sweep over him 
as he thought how all this had been taken out of 
his life, and he would stop in his talking to steady 
himself He said nothing of this to the others, but 
I think that they all felt the sorrow that was lying 
at the bottom of his heart. Then they sat down to 
supper. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


198 

Tom’s father tried to turn the talk more cheer- 
fully. 

We haven’t told thee the great news, Thomas,” 
said he. 

“ What is it ?” said Tom. 

“ Thee sees, thy coming upset us all, so that we 
didn’t think of it. Thee tell him, Susan.” 

Susan looked down, and the color rose in her 
face. 

“ What is the news ? ” said Tom, again. 

“Well,” said his father, “as Susan don’t seem 
inclined to tell thee, I suppose I must do it myself. 
How would thee like Will Gaines for a brother ?” 

Tom did not speak for a moment, then he said, a 
little unsteadily ; “I — I wish thee joy, Su.san; thee’s 
chosen a good man for thy husband, and I believe 
he’ll make thee happy.” 

Then they were silent for a while. 

“When is thee going to be married?” said Tom 
again, at last. 

“The time’s not fixed yet; some time in the 
eleventh month, I guess.” 

After a while Tom’s father spoke. 

“ What’s thee going to do now, Thomas?” said he. 

“ I don’t know exactly,” said Tom, huskily; “ I’m 
going to Philadelphia again on the first stage 
to-morrow.” 

His mother looked earnestly at him, and the tears 
rose in her eyes, and rolled slowly down her cheeks ; 
then she pushed back her chair, and left the table 
hurriedly. 


WtTHtN THE CAPES. 


m 

Presently they all arose and went into the sitting* 
room. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, for, 
tliough the days were warm, the evenings were cool 
and frosty. The four men sat down around the fire, 
smoking and talking together in a rambling fashion. 
Their words were constrained, for each felt upon his 
mind the parting that was to come to-morrow. 

So the time passed until the old clock in the 
corner struck nine. Then Tom’s father arose in the 
way that Tom knew so well, and lit his candle with 
one of the paper lamplighters on the mantle shelf. 
Before he left the room he came to Tom and laid 
his hand on his shoulder. 

“Thy burthen’s heavy, Thomas,’’ said he; “bear 
it like a man.’’ 

“ I’ll try,’’ said Tom. 

“ I wish that we could have thee longer with us, 
but thee’s doing right to go; thee mustn’t stay in 
the neighborhood just now.’’ He stood for a 
moment as though he were about to say something 
more ; he did not speak again, however, but pres- 
ently turned and left the room. 

Such was Tom’s home-coming after a year and a 
half of shipwreck and misery. How had he looked 
forward to that home-coming, and how had it, like 
dead sea fruit, turned to bitterness in the mouth ! 
Truly, it is kind in the good Father that he has 
given us to look into the past, and not forward into 
that which is to come. What hope would there be 
left in the world, if we could know the sorrows that 
were to come upon us in time ? 


CHAPTER XVI. 


I T oftentimes comes in this world that cares and 
troubles fall upon one, not in one deadly blow, 
but in stroke after stroke, as though to bear the 
man to the earth with their constant beating. 
Surely men’s souls are of tough fibre that they can 
so bend beneath such blows, beaten down only to 
rise again, bruised, wounded, but living. There is 
within a man a courage bred of hope that lives 
even in the darkest moments ; a courage that lifts 
him up again out of the dust and supports him 
along his way, lame and sore, perhaps, but not 
broken down utterly. 

So it was with Tom. Bitter troubles had come 
upon him during the past year and a half, and the 
bitterest and darkest of all had fallen upon him the 
day before. ' Still more were to come, and yet he 
has lived through these and others until his life has 
covered a span of nigh four score and ten, and at 
the end of them all he can still say that life is a 
pleasant thing. 

Tom was up at the peep of day, for there were 
some things that he wished to take with him, and 
the packing of them must be done before breakfast 
200 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


201 


time. He was to leave on the Enterprise stage, 
which passed the house about eight o'clock. 

Little was said amongst the members of the 
family during breakfast time, and only a few words 
were spoken about his going. Half-past seven 
came and then Tom stood up and kissed his 
mother and Susan. Susan clung to him weeping ; 
his mother’s eyes were full of tears, but they did not 
flow over. 

“ The Lord bless thee, my son ! ” said she, with 
trembling lips. These were all the words that she 
spoke. 

“ Come, Thomas,” said his father at last ; “ the 
stage’ll soon be along, and thee’ll miss it if thee don’t 
look out. I’ll walk down to the road with thee.” 

” Farewell, William,” said Tom, shaking hands 
with his brother. 

“ Farewell, Thomas.” 

“ John — ” 

I guess I’ll walk down to the road with thee, 
Thomas. Let me carry thy bundle,” said John. 

Never mind ; it’s very light,” said Tom. 

They were silent as they went down the lane, 
and silent for a while as they stood at the roadside 
waiting for the stage ; each was occupied with his 
own thoughts. At last John broke through the 
painful silence. “The stage is mighty late this 
morning,” said he, in a constrained voice. 

“ Thee’ll write to us, won’t thee, Thomas ? ” .said 
his father, looking away as he spoke. 

“ Yes,” said Tom. 


202 


Wimm THE CAPES. 


** Yonder’s the stage coming down Wilkes’ 
said John. 

But it was destined that Tom was not to go to 
Philadelphia that day on the Enterprise stage, or for 
some time to come. 

“ Who’s that coming up the road yonder,” said 
John. 

“ It looks like William Gaines,” said Tom’s father. 

** It is Will Gaines,” said Tom. 

So Will came galloping up to them, and then all 
three men saw from his face that he was the bearer 
of strange news. He leaped from his horse without 
a word of greeting, or without seeming to wonder 
why the three were standing there. His mind was 
too preoccupied to give attention to anything but 
his thoughts. 

“ Have you heard what’s happened ? ” said he. 

No.” 

" What?” 

Will hesitated for a moment and then said, in a 
solemn voice : “ Isaac Naylor has been murdered ! ” 

There was a space of dead silence. 

** Isaac Naylor murdered ! ” said Tom’s father 
under his breath. Will nodded his head ; he was 
looking straight at Tom ; his face was very pale and 
there was a troubled, anxious look in his eyes. 

“ Murdered !” repeated John, mechanically, “where, 
when, how ? ” 

“ Ephraim Whiteley and his colored man found 
him at five o’clock this morning; his scull was 
beaten in with a piece of fence-rail T* 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


20 $ 


“ My God ! ” cried Tom. He put his hand to his 
forehead, for horrible thoughts were passing through 
his mind. Could he — could he have killed Isaac ? 
Was it a creation of his fancy that had left him 
sitting upon the rock, half strangled, but otherwise 
unhurt? 

“Where did they find him?” said John, in a low 
voice. 

“On the old mill road, about three hundred yards 
from the turnpike.” 

Tom looked slowly about him; was he dream- 
ing? Did he really hear the words that Will 
spoke ? 

The Philadelphia coach had come up to them, 
but no one had noticed its coming. They must 
have showed by their faces that something strange 
had happened, for the coach stopped when it came 
to where they were standing. 

“What’s the matter?” cried old John Grundy, 
from the box. 

“ Isaac Naylor’s been murdered,” said John, in a 
low voice. 

“ My Lord ! Isaac Naylor murdered ! ” Then, after 
a moment’s pause — “Where ? — How ? — When ?” A 
half a dozen heads were thrust out of the coach 
windows by this time — they all listened in silence 
while John repeated that which Will had just told 
them. The coach went on down the road, but it 
did not take Tom with it. 

Then Will turned to Tom — “Tom, I want to 
speak to you for a minute,” said he. 


204 


WiTinN THE CAPES. 


Tom stepped aside with him, without answering. 

Will was holding his horse by the reins ; he did 
not speak for a moment or two, but stood as though 
thinking what to say. 

“ Tom, have you seen Isaac Naylor since you’ve 
come back ?” said he, at last. 

“Yes.” 

“Where?” 

Tom hesitated before he spoke. 

“ Where ?” said Will, again. 

“At — at the place where they found him this 
morning,” said Tom. He looked straight at Will 
as he spoke, but Will turned his eyes away. 

“ Tom,” said he, “ there’s a warrant out for your 
arrest.” 

“ Mine!” 

“Yes; yours, Tom. I expect the constable’s on 
his way from Eastcaster now. Anyway, there’s no 
time to lose. Here’s a horse ready for you ; jump 
on her and leave the country 1 ” 

“Will.” 

“Well; what is it?” 

“ Do you believe that I killed Isaac Naylor ?” 

Will did not answer, but stood looking fixedly 
on the ground. 

“Never mind; I don’t ask you to answer me. 
Will. I’ll tell you, however, that I did not do it. 
I’ll stay and face the music.” 

Then Tom turned and called his father and John. 

Father — ^John — did you hear what Will said?” 

“ No ” 


WITH/N THE CAPES. 305 

" He said that there’s a warrant out against me 
for this thing.” 

' “ A warrant out against thee? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ But thee hasn’t seen Isaac Naylor since thee 
came home, Thomas,” said his father. 

“ Yes, I did, father.” 

Where?” 

“ At the very place where he was murdered.” 

Then he told all that had passed between him 
and Isaac Naylor, and of how near he had come to 
doing that of which he was accused. His father 
listened without a word, looking deeply and fixedly 
into Tom’s eyes the while. John was looking 
intently at him, too. Will was standing, turned half 
away. When Tom had ended, his father spoke to 
him in a low voice : 

“ Thomas.” 

** Well?” 

“ Is — is that all ? Has thee told us all?" 

“ Yes, father.” 

“ Why didn’t thee speak of it before ? ” 

“ I couldn’t bear to do it. I was afraid to tell 
how I had treated him — ^an overseer in the meeting.” 

Tom’s heart crumbled within him at the silence 
that followed his words. 

** Father,” he said, so help me God, my hands 
are clean of this thing. Does thee suppose I’d 
have come home if I’d done it ? ” 

‘‘Wait a minute, Thomas; I’m thinking,” said 
his father. He stood picking at his finger-tips, and 


206 WITHIN THE CAPES. 

looking earnestly at them. At last he raised his 
head. “ I don’t believe that thee did do it, Thomas. 

I can’t believe it.” 

“ Neither can I !” burst out John. “ My brother 
couldn’t do a thing like that. My mother’s son 
couldn’t kill a man. I don’t believe it, and I can’t 
believe it ! ” 

The tears sprang into Tom’s eyes at these words. 
He looked at Will, but Will’s head was still turned 
away. “ Here comes the constable,” said he, at 
last, in a low voice. 

A horse and gig had come up from behind 
Stony-Brook Hill. When it reached the level road 
between them and the crest of the rise the nag 
broke into a trot. 

‘ Yes, that’s Johnson’s team,” said John, and 
then he turned his head away. 

They all stood silently until at last the gig came 
up to where they were. The constable and his 
deputy were both in it. The constable drew up the 
horse, and threw the reins to the deputy. Then he 
stepped out and came over to where the others 
were standing, drawing a paper out of his breast- 
pocket as he did so. He had not said a word up 
to this time. 

f I know what you’re coming for,” said Tom ; 

I’m ready to go with you, Johnson.” 

“The Lord knows — I’d rather lose a hundred 
dollars, than have to do this,” said the constable. 

“ I believe you would,” said Tom. 

“ Can thee wait a little while. Eben ?” said Tom’s 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


ZO7 

father; ‘^I'd like to drive over to Squire Morrow’s 
along with you. I’ll slip up to the house and gear 
Nelly to the wagon ; it won’t take me a minute.” 

The constable drew a watch out of his fob, and 
looked at it. “ I guess I can wait a little bit, Mr. 
Granger,” said he; “ the witnesses weren’t all at the 
squire’s when I left. You’ll have to step into the 
gig though, Tom, and I’ll — I’ll have to put cuffs on 
you.” 

“ Will you have to do that ?” 

“ I’m afraid I will ;” — he drew the hand-cuffs out 
of his pocket as he spoke; there was a sharp 
“ click ! click ! ” and Tom felt the cold iron circling 
his wrists. 

His father groaned, and when Tom looked at 
him, he saw that his face was as white as wax. He 
turned, and he and John walked slowly up the lane 
toward the house. 

Then Tom stepped to the gig, and climbed in 
beside the deputy constable. Johnson went to the 
roadside, and sat down on the bank. He sat with 
his elbows resting on his knees, and his hands 
hanging clasped together between them. Will 
stood leaning against the palling fence, and nothing 
was said, excepting once when the constable spoke 
to his deputy. 

“ Better turn the boss, Jos ; you won’t have to do 
it then when Mr. Granger and John come back.” 

After a while they saw John drive the farm-wagon 
over from the stable to the house. William was 
sitting beside him .and presently Tom’s fether came 


208 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


cut of the house and climbed slowly into It. Then 
they drove down the road to where the others were 
waiting. 

“ Father, how did mother take the news ? ” said 
Tom. 

Very well ! Very well ! Better than I ex- 
pected,” said his father, briefly ; then he turned to 
Will : “ Thee’d better go up to the house, William ; 
I’d like thee to stay with mother and Susan while 
we’re gone.” 

Will mounted his horse without a word, and, 
turning into the lane, galloped up to the house 
beneath the shadows of the trees. 

“ Are you all ready ? ” said the constable, stand- 
ing with one foot on the step of the gig. 

“All ready.” 

Then he climbed in and they all drove away 
toward Eastcaster. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A S the gig rattled down the hill and past the end 
of Penrose’s road, Tom leaned forward and 
looked up toward the spot where he had met Isaac 
Naylor the day before. A knot of people had 
gathered about the place where the body had been 
found, collected there by the morbid curiosity that 
stirs men at such a time ; they were talking earnestly 
together, some sitting on the fence, some leaning 
against it. 

At last they reached the level road that led into 
Eastcaster, and the nag broke into a trot. The 
houses were clustered more thickly together around 
the outskirts of the town. Of course, the news had 
spread everywhere, and knots of people were gath- 
ered here and there talking the matter over. As 
the gig with the three men in it rattled along the 
stony street, the talk would be hushed in these 
groups, and the people would turn and gaze at the 
constables and their prisoner. Tom had not re- 
alized all that he would have to pass through till 
now ; he had not known what it would be to have 
his neighbors and old acquaintances staring at him 
with that look of mixed curiosity and horror. He 
14 209 


210 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


shrunk together in the gig back of the constables, 
striving to hide himself behind them. Johnson 
must have known how he felt, for he laid the whip 
to the horse and drove on as fast as possible. 

At last they reached Squire Morrow’s office, at 
the corner of Market and Andover streets. It was 
a small, dark two-storied building, with an old- 
fashioned hipped roof ; — it has since been torn down 
to make way for Prettyman’s new store. A great 
crowd had gathered around the corner about the 
squire’s office, and they could see through the 
windows that the room was packed with the people 
inside. The gig drew up to the sidewalk and the 
constable stepped down out of it. 

“ You’ll have to get down, now, Tom,” whispered 
Jos Giddings, the deputy, in Tom’s ear. Then Tom 
stepped out and the deputy followed him. The 
constable had a great deal of trouble in pushing his 
way through the people, for they crowded up very 
closely to get a look at Tom. He walked with his 
eyes fixed straight ahead of him ; he saw nothing 
but the crown of the constable’s hat, but he knew, 
as well as though he had looked about him, that a 
mass of faces were gazing at him with eager and 
intense curiosity. He also knew that his father and 
his brothers, John and William, had gotten out of 
the farm wagon and were following close behind 
him. 

“ Stand out of the way there ! ” said the constable, 
in a loud voice, as he pushed into the office, and then 
Tom found himself standing beside a railing that 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


211 


separated the squire’s desk from the mass of people 
packed into the body of the office. The light came 
through a little window in the end of the room, so 
that Tom could see things only duskily after coming 
in from the dazzling glare of the sunlight outside. 
Mr. Morrow was sitting at his desk, leaning back in 
his chair, with a very troubled look in his eyes. He 
was playing absently with a pen that lay on the 
table in front of him. 

“ Won’t the prisoner sit down, constable ? ” said 
he ; “ he looks pretty badly.” 

“ I don’t care to sit down,” said Tom, I’d rather 
stand.” He was resting with his handcuffed hands 
on the railing in front of him ; after a while he 
collected his courage, and then he looked slowly 
around him. 

A number of people were sitting inside of the 
railing ; the first one that he saw was Patty Penrose, 
and on her his eyes lingered long and painfully. 
She was veiy white, and J.ark rings encircled her 
eyes. She sat with her handkerchief in her hand, 
and she wiped the slow tears from her cheeks with 
it every now and then. Her father sat beside her, 
looking very hard and stern. He did not glance at 
Tom until later in the examination that followed. 
Just behind Elihu Penrose sat Mr. Moor. He, too, 
was vety^ pale, and every now and then he wiped 
his face with a bandana handkerchief Beside these 
three were Ephraim Whiteley and his colored man, 
Mrs. Bond, the landlady of the C^own and Angela 
gnd Pr. Winterapple. 


212 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


Then Tom looked up and saw that his father and 
his two brothers stood beside him. 

The first witness called was Ephraim Whitele}\ 
He was tall, ungainly, round shouldered and loose 
jointed. He was an elderly man; a very plain 
Friend, and, like Isaac Naylor, was one of the over- 
seers of the meeting. 

Of course, he affirmed, for Friends are not 
allowed, by the Society, to take oath as to the 
truth of evidence. He testified that he and his 
colored man “Jim” were going to Downeyville 
with a load of potatoes. They had started early 
in the morning — about five o’clock, he should 
think. Had found deceased tying in front of the 
“ big stone ” beside the roadside, about two or three 
hundred yards from the turnpike. Had thought 
that it was some one who had been drinking — 
remembers that Jim said something to that effect. 
Had not thought differently from this, until he 
had come close to where deceased was tying. He 
noticed then a dark stain on the collar, and also 
deceased’s plain coat — he knew that something was 
wrong. He stopped the wagon, and he and Jim 
went over to where the body was tying. Found a 
heavy knotted piece of wood tying close to the 
deceased, and noticed that there was blood upon 
it. He had turned deceased over ^ did not know 
who it was until he heard Jim say, “ Good Lord ! 
it’s Mr. Naylor!” He and Jim lifted the body 
into the wagon, and drove over to Elijah Hunt’s, 
thinking it best to take it to deceased’s cousin. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 21 ] 

Had summoned the coroner at Elijah Hunt’s re 
quest. 

The next witness called Was James Madisor^ 
Trusty (colored). 

He was in Mr. Whiteley’s employ. He had gone 
with Mr. Whiteley to take a load of potatoes to 
Downeyville. He had called Mr. Whiteley’s atten- 
tion to the body of the deceased. It was lying on 
it’s face in the grass, close to the “ big stone.” He 
had thought at first that it was some one drunk. He 
had said to Mr. Whiteley that ” there was a happy 
man,” or, “ that man ought to be happy,” or some 
such speech — could not remember the exact words. 
He did not think much about it till Mr. Whiteley 
stopped the cart and jumped out. Mr. Whiteley 
had turned the body over, and he had recognized 
the face as that of Mr. Naylor — called Mr. White- 
ley’s attention to the same. Mr. Whiteley called on 
liim to lift deceased into the cart. He was very 
sick, and it was some time before he could bring 
himself to touch the body. 

(Doctor) Justin S. Winterapple was the next 
witness called. 

He had made the post-mortem examination before 
the coroner’s jury. There was the mark of only 
one contusion — it was at the base of the cranium, 
immediately behind and under the right ear. The 
bone was fractured as though with some heavy 
weapon. It might have been done with the club or 
knotted piece of wood found lying beside the 
deceased — thought altogether likely that it was 


214 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


done by it. He did not think that the deceased 
died immediately upon receiving the blow. 

All this was terrible to Tom ; so terrible that he 
grasped the railing in front of him, until his finger 
nails were livid with the force of the grip. But 
what must it have been to Patty? Tom looked at 
her, and the expression of her face made him forget 
his own troubles. Oh, God ! ” muttered he to 
himself, “ that I should have come home to bring 
all this upon her ! ” 

The next witness called was Mrs. Bond. 

She testified that the prisoner had come by the 
Union line, in stage No. 3, the day before. He and 
Mr. Gaines had met, and had gone into the parlor; 
they had talked there a long time, and at last the 
prisoner had come out, and had gone up Market 
street in the direction of his home. She had not 
known the prisoner until Mr. Gaines had told her. 
She remembered to have remarked how changed 
he was, and that she would never have known him 
with his long beard and his grey hair. 

Mr. Morrow looked vexed. '‘Why hasn’t Mr. 
Gaines been called ?” said he ; “ how is it he hasn’t 
been called ? Where is he now ?” 

“ He’s out at Mr. Milton Granger’s,” said the 
constable. 

The magistrate “ pished ” and “ pshawed,” but at 
last he said that they might as well go on with the 
examination of the other witnesses, and that they 
could send for Mr. Gaines if his evidence should be 
found to be necessary, 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


2i5 


The next witness called was Edmund R. Moor. 
The Bible was passed to him to swear upon, but he 
pushed it hurriedly away from him and said that he 
would affirm, and not swear to the truth of his 
statement. Mr. Morrow seemed somewhat sur- 
prised, but he said nothing, and took Mr. Moor’s 
affirmation as he desired. He then testified that he 
had been with Isaac Naylor the afternoon before, at 
about four o’clock. The deceased had come to 
consult him upon a matter of business concerning 
some money that he, the witness, had invested for 
the other. He had left him, saying that he was 
going down to White’s store for his letters. He 
had seen deceased about half an hour later, walking 
up Market Street. He, the witness, had been feel- 
ing ill all day, and had quitted his office to step 
around to the stable for his horse, thinking a ride 
might be of benefit to him. He had seen deceased 
turn into Penrose’s road, and remembered to have 
heard him say, a little while before, that he was 
going to see Elihu Penrose’s daughter, whom he 
was engaged to marry. 

Tom looked at Patty as Mr. Moor said these 
words, and saw her hide her face with her trembling 
hands. He groaned when he saw the agony that it 
caused her. 

The witness then went on to say that he had 
thought no more of it, but was watering his horse 
at the shallow, when he saw the prisoner run out of 
the road and turn up the turnpike, in the direction 
of Granger’s farmhouse. 


2I6 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


The magistrate asked Mr. Moor several ques- 
tions, in answer to which he said that he had not 
known the prisoner, because of the beard and the 
whiteness of his hair : he did not think of its being 
Mr. Thomas Granger. He also said that he had 
gone on up the turnpike after he had watered his 
horse ; that he had not thought of anything having 
happened to Isaac Naylor, and that he did not hear 
any cry or call for help, to make him think that 
anything had gone wrong. 

Mr. Moor was so white that the magistrate asked 
him if he was ill. 

“ I do feel sick,” said he. '' I haven’t felt well 
since yesterday morning. Maybe it’s the closeness 
of the room that makes me feel sick now.” 

He wiped his face with his bandana handkerchief 
as he spoke, for it was w^et with the sweat that ran 
trickling down his cheeks. 

“ I’m sorry you feel so sick, Mr. Moor,” said the 
magistrate. 

“ If you have no more use for me, I’d like to go/^ 
said Mr. Moor. 

Mr. Morrow said that he might leave now, if he 
wished, so he worked his way through the crowd 
in the office, looking neither to the right nor to the 
left, and so went into the street. 

The next witness called was Patty Penrose, and 
she stood up, resting her hand on the top of her 
chair as she did so. There was not a particle of 
color in her face as she stood before the magistrate. 
A strand of hair had fallen across her brow, but she 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 

did not brush it back, or seem to notice it. Tom’s 
heart bled for her as he stood looking at her. 

“ Will you swear or affirm ?” said the magistrate. 

“ I affirm,” she answered, in a low voice. Then 
she repeated after him the words of affirmation : “ I 
do most solemnly affirm — that what I tell — is the 
truth — the whole truth — and nothing but the truth.” 

” When did you see the prisoner last ? ” 

“ Yesterday.” 

“ At what time was it ? ” 

“ In the afternoon.” 

“But what time was it — at what time in the 
afternoon was it that you saw him ?” 

She did not answer immediately, and Tom, as he 
looked at her, saw that she was swaying, as though 
she was about to fall. 

“ Perhaps the witness had better sit down while 
she gives her evidence,” said Mr. Morrow. 

Patty did not seem to understand him, and her 
father spoke to her in a low voice. Then she sat 
down mechanically, as though she did not know 
what she was doing. 

“ Take courage, Patty ! ” burst out Tom. “ God 
knows I am innocent of this ! God knows lam!” 

“ The prisoner must be silent ! ” said the magis- 
trate, rapping on the desk before him with his 
knuckles. Then, speaking to Patty again: “At 
what hour in the afternoon was it that you saw him ? ” 

Patty looked up and her eyes met Tom’s. He 
tried to smile. “ Speak out, Patty, and tell every- 
thing,” said he. 


2I8 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


About five o’clock,” said she, faintly. 

“ What was said between you ? ” said the magis- 
trate 

There was a pause of dead silence, every one 
listening to catch the answer. At last the magis- 
trate, after waiting a while for her to speak, re- 
peated : 

“ Can you tell me what was said between you ? ” 

There was another pause, and still Patty made no 
answer. Suddenly she burst forth : “ Oh, I can’t! — 
I can’t! — I can’t! ” She covered her face with her 
hands as she spoke, rocking her body back and 
forth, while convulsive sobs shook her through and 
through. 

I think that few eyes were dry in the magistrate’s 
office. Tom stood looking at his darling with 
trembling lips, the tears trickling unnoticed down 
his cheeks. Old Elihu Penrose sat gazing stonily 
ahead of him, his hands clasped tightly together 
upon his lap. 

Nothing was said for some time, and Mr. Morrow 
sat wiping his spectacles. After a while he spoke 
in a gentle and soothing* manner : “You must 
answer me — you must, indeed. It is sad, veiy sad. 
I wouldn’t ask you these things if I didn’t have to. 
But you must answer me. Can’t you tell me what 
was said between you when you saw him last?” 

I — I — I told — him — that I was to— to be mar- 
ried — to-day.” 

There was a moment of hesitation before the 
magistrate asked the next question. Then it came ; 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


“ Was there a promise of marriage between you 
and the prisoner before he left Eastcaster a year and 
a half ago ? ” 

Again there was no answer given to Mr. Morrow s 
question, and, after a little pause, the magistrate 
repeated it. 

Still Patty said nothing; her face sank lower, 
lower, lower upon her breast and her hands slid 
helplessly to her lap ; then she swayed slowly from 
one side to the other. Tom was looking intently at 
her, and suddenly he gave a sharp and bitter cry : — 
Catch her ; she’s falling ! My God, you’ve 
killed her ! ” 

As he spoke she sank forward, and would have 
fallen if her father had not caught her in his arms 
and so saved her. Then he looked at Tom for the 
first time since he had come into the magistrate’s 
office. 

“ If she’s killed, it’s thy doings, Thomas Granger,” 
said he, in a low, constrained voice. He stood 
grimly holding her, but all around him was confu- 
sion and tumult. Mr. Morrow pushed his chair 
back hastily and arose and Dr. Winterapple ran to 
her. 

“ Let her lie on the floor ! ” he cried, ** she’s 
fainted ! Some water, quick ! ” 

Her father laid her down upon the floor and Dr. 
Winterapple, snatching up a pitcher of water that 
sat upon the table, began sprinkling her face and 
bathing her temples. Mrs. Bond kneeled beside 
her, chafing and slapping her hands. 


Z20 


WTTHIN THE CAPES. 


EUhu Penrose sat down in his chair again, staring 
at Patty with the same expressionless look that iie 
had worn all along. After a while her bosom rose 
with a deep, convulsive sigh and she partially 
unclosed her eyes, moving her head from side to 
side. They lifted her up and sat her in a chair, 
and Mrs. Bond fanned her. Then Tom turned to 
the magistrate. 

“ Mr. Morrow,” said he, for the love of heaven, 
don’t torture her any more; Pll tell everything!” 

“ Take care,” said Mr. Morrow, warningly ; “ I 
tell you plainly that what you say will be taken in 
evidence against you. Your case is dark enough — 
don’t make it any blacker.” 

I don’t care how black the case is against me ! 
I’d rather have anything happen to me than have 
you make that poor girl convict me out of her own 
mouth ! I’ve kept my lips shut too long already.” 

” I have only to say, take care what you say ! ” 
said the magistrate again. 

“ I’ll tal<e care ! You asked her if there was any 
promise of marriage between us before I sailed 
away on this last cruise. There was a promise of 
marriage ! I’ll tell you farther — ” 

“ I’ll have to commit you from your own lips, if 
there’s more such evidence to come.” 

“ I don’t care ! ” said Tom, in a ringing voice, “ I’ll 
tell you that I was half crazy after I left her, for I 
didn’t know that she was going to be married till 
she told me herself. I met Isaac Naylor at the 
very place where he was killed, and I did use 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 221 

violence to him ; but I neither struck him nor killed 
him.” 

“ That’ll do,” said Mr. Morrow, “ I’ll have to 
commit you for trial. I’d have had to commit you, 
anyhow, even if you hadn’t spoken a word, for 
there was evidence enough for it. I’m sorry for 
you ; very sorry.” 

He dipped his pen in the ink as he spoke, and 
began writing. 

Tom’s father laid his horny palm on Tom’s hand 
as he stood clutching the railing in front of him. 
“Thee’s done right to speak, even if it weighs 
against thee, Thomas,” said he. The tears arose in 
Tom’s eyes at his father’s words. All the time he 
had been speaking, he was looking at Patty. She 
was leaning back in her chair with her lips apart, 
and her eyes just showing through the half-closed 
lids. He saw that she had heard nothing of what 
he had said, and he was glad of it. 

The magistrate reached across the railing, and 
handed the commitment to the constable. 

“ Farewell, father,” said Tom, ‘Hhee believes that 
I’m innocent ; don’t thee ?” 

” Yes; I do,” said his father, in a husky voice. 
Then he gave way to his feelings, as no one 
had ever seen him do before — he laid both hands 
on his son’s shoulders, and kissed him on the 
cheek. 

'‘Farewell, John; farewell, William,” said he, 
reaching out his hands to his brothers. 

‘‘Farewell, Thomas,” said John, dapping him 


222 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


upon the shoulder, and trying to speak cheerfully : 
“ thee’ll come out all right ; J know thee will ! ” 

“ I hope so,” said Tom 

“You’ll have to come along, now,” said the 
constable. Then they went out again through the 
curious crowd, Johnson pushing a way through the 
people for himself and his prisoner. They stepped 
into the gig, and drove away to the gaol. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


T om granger had been in Eastcaster gaol 
about an hour, when Will Gaines came to 
see him. 

Since the click of the lock that shut him in his 
cell as a murderer had sounded in his ears, a calm- 
ness and a peace almost akin to happiness had 
fallen upon his spirit. This may sound strange, but 
there are periods, in times of trouble and grief, 
when the soul is relaxed from its tension of pain, 
and quietude comes for the time being. Tom’s 
brain was as clear as crystal, and he reviewed his 
position with a keenness that surprised himself. He 
saw that the evidence was strong against him — 
damningly strong. As he walked up and down his 
cell, thinking over all that the witnesses had said — 
and he seemed to remember every word — he felt as 
though he were shut in by a wall of evidence that 
he could never hope to break through. But, 
though realizing all this, he had none of that anxiety 
regarding it, that it would have seemed natural for 
him to feel ; it was almost as though these things 
concerned another person. 

So he walked up and down his cell, going over 

223 


224 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


all that had passed in the squire’s office. Of a 
sudden, a flaw in a certain part of the evidence 
struck him ; it was but a small thing, but it was 
sufficient to arouse a new thought within him. 
Then he stood quite still in the middle of the cell, 
looking down upon the floor, and sunk in medita- 
tion. for his mind was busy in following up point 
after point of this thought, as a hound follows up 
the scent of game that it has freshly started. 

How long he stood there I do not know, but he 
was aroused at last by the opening of the door of 
his cell, and Will Gaines came in to him. Will did 
not say a word; neither did he look at Tom, but 
he flung his hat and cloak despondingly upon the 
table. 

“Sit down, Will,” said Tom, “take that chair; 
ril sit here on the edge of the cot.” 

“ Thank’ee,” said Will, “ 1 will sit down, if you 
don’t mind. I’m kind of tired and fagged out.” 

“ How did you leave mother and Susan ? ” said 
Tom, after a moment or two of silence had passed. 

“Oh, pretty well. Of course, your mother is 
veiy troubled at what has occurred, but, on the 
whole, she bears it better than I could have hoped 
for. She believes that you’re innocent.” 

She’s right.” 

‘Will heaved a sigh. “ I hope she is,” said he. 

“ Thank’ee,” said Tom, a little grimly, and then 
the talk lapsed between them again. 

“Tom,” said Will, breaking the silence, “your 
iather has engaged me to act as your attorn^ ia 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


22 $ 


matter. The Lord knows, I wish I had more 
experience. I haven’t always worked as hard as I 
might have done, and now. when it has fallen to my 
lot to have to defend the brother of the girl that T 
hope to marry from a charge of murder, it seems 
likely that I’ll have tc pay a bitter price for all the 
time that I have wasted. However, I’ll go to Phila- 
delphia i^o-morrow and see Mr. Fargio, and get him 
to take up your case. I’ve come to talk over the 
matter with you, Tom.” 

“ Wait a minute, Will. I have a question to ask 
you, first. Do you believe me guilty?” 

Will Gaines looked fixedly out of the window of 
♦^he cell but he did not answer. Tom smiled a 
little sadly. 

“ I think I know how you feel about it, without 
the asking. Will,” said he. “Now, do you think 
that I’d have a man defend me who didn’t believe 
that I was innocent ? ” 

“ Of course ; you’d have to have some one to 
defend you.” 

“ I don’t see that. If I really was guilty of this 
thing, it seems to me that I ought to be punished 
as the law calls for. However, that is neither here 
nor there, for I hope to make you believe in my 
innocence before you quit this cell.” 

“ I wish to Heaven you could,” said Will, but 
his tone was rather gloomy than hopeful. 

“ Well, I’ll have a try at it. In the first place, I’ll 
have to ask you whether you think that I’m the kind 
of man that would murder another in cold blood ? ” 
IS 


226 


ir/TMN THE CAPES, 


“ Of course I don’t believe that,” said Will. 

“You don’t think that I’m capable of lying m 
wait for Isaac Naylor, and deliberately killing him 
— not in heat of passion, but with a cool hand ? ” 

“ Certainly not. You don’t think that I’d believe 
such a thing of you as that, do you ?” 

“ Then, if I had killed him, I would have been in 
a rage, and hardly conscious of what I was doing?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ In that case, I think tliat I can easily convince 
you that I didn’t do it at all.” 

“ I wish you could,” said Will, again. 

“ Do you believe what I told you up home, about 
meeting Isaac Naylor, and fighting with him ? ” 

Will nodded his head. 

“ If I’d killed him at all, I would have killed him 
then, and in that struggle, wouldn’t I?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Very good. Now, Dr. Winterapple affirmed 
before the magistrate that onl}^ one blow had been 
given, and that that blow was immediately behind 
and under the right ear.” 

Will was looking very earnestly at Tom. “ I 
heard his evidence before the coroner’s jury,” said 
he. 

“Well, I’m right, ain’t I?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Where are your wits, man ? How could I 
strike him in the back part of the head, and under 
the right ear, if I struck him while he was fighting 
me off, as he must have been doing under the 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


227 


circumstances? Look here; suppose you and I 
are facing one another, so — I have a club in my 
hand to strike you with ; I couldn’t possibly reach 
you to strike you where Isaac received the blow 
that finished him. If I were to strike you a blow 
in a moment of fury, it would be on the top or on 
the left side of the head. It would be impossible to 
strike you on the right side, without I were left 
handed.” 

“ Tom,” said Will, “ I hadn’t thought of that — 
what a fool I have been.” 

” Well, I suppose you didn’t think of it,” said 
Tom, ” but I don’t see that that makes a fool of 
you.” 

“ You’ve made a great point,” said Will ; “ I see 
now ; of course you couldn’t.” 

” Wait a bit,” said Tom, “ you’re going too fast, 
now. Any one, except a friend, who wanted to 
believe in my innocence, would say that Isaac might 
have broken away from me, and have run. If I’d 
struck him while he was running away. I’d have 
given him just such a blow as killed him.” 

” That’s true.” 

” But, if he’d tried to run away from me, he’d 
have run in the beaten track, and not in the grass 
and briars along the roadside. Now, he was found 
lying in the grass just as he had fallen, and surely, 
it isn’t likely that if I had struck him down in the 
middle of the road, I would afterward have dragged 
him into the grass. My first instinct, after I had 
th^ deed, would be to run away, and leave 


228 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


him lying where he was. He was sitting or. .iic 
‘big stone' when he was struck, and he fell forward 
just where Ephraim Whiteley found him." 

So Tom ended and stood looking at Will. Will 
said nothing at first, but at last he spoke. 

“ Tom,” said he, drawing a deep breath, “ I am 
more thankful to you than I can tell ; you have 
lifted a great load off my mind. I don’t think that 
I ever fully believed that you were guilty of this 
thing, but, I was afraid — I was afraid. The evidence 
was strong against you — you did meet Isaac Naylor, 
according to your own confession, and you kept 
that meeting secret from every one. You had just 
seen Patty, and had heard all, and I know that you 
must have been half crazy with it. I believe in 
your innocence now, but the circumstances were 
very strong against you.” 

“Yes; they were. Will,” said Tom; “you had 
good reason to suspect me; nevertheless, I own 
freely, I felt kind of cut up when I saw what )'ou 
thought. Even this that I’ve just said to you, 
wouldn’t go for much, only that you are ready and 
anxious to believe me. It wouldn’t weigh a 
moment with a jury.” 

“ I’m not so sure of that.” 

Tom made no answer to this last speech; he took 
a turn or two up and down his cell, and then stopped 
suddenly in front of the other. 

“ You believe I’m innocent now, do you ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Firmly?” ' ‘ 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


229 


“ Firmly/’ 

“ And you won’t think that anything further that 
1 may say to you’ll be for the purpose of throwing 
the blame off my own shoulders and upon those of 
another man ?” 

“ No.” 

” Then I believe I know who it was that did kill 
Isaac Naylor.” 

” Who ?” said Will, almost breathlessly. 

Tom looked him in the eyes for a moment or two 
before he spoke. 

“ Edmund Moor,” said he, quietly. 

For a time Will glared at him with wide-opened 
eyes and mouth. “ Tom,” said he, at last, in a low 
voice, “what makes you say such a thing as that? 
What leads you to make so horrible an accusation 
against such a man as Mr. Moor?” 

“ That horrible accusation was made against me.” 

“ But the circumstances were strong against you.” 

“ I think the circumstances are strong against 
him.” 

“ I don’t see it.” 

Tom sat down on the edge of the table facing the 
other. “ Look here, Will said he, “ suppose that 
a man bearing testimony against another accused of 
murder should give evidence that was faulty in 
nearly every point; wouldn’t your first thought be 
that he knew more of the real story than he was 
inclined to tell, and that he was willing to let the 
accused suffer for it ?” 

“ Yes.” 


230 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


“ That’s what Mr. Moor did ; you didn’t hear his 
evidence before the magistrate, but I did, and what’s 
more, I remember every word of it. This is what 
he said : That he was riding out the turnpike for 
pleasure, and that he saw Isaac Naylor turn into 
Penrose’s road ; that he stopped his horse to water 
it at the shallow beside the bridge ; that he saw me 
run out of the mill road and up the turnpike, and 
that he did not know who I was ; that he heard no 
sound of any kind to make him suspect that some- 
thing was going wrong ; that he thought nothing 
more about Isaac Naylor, but went along the turn- 
pike without looking up the road where Isaac had 
gone. Now, Will, is there nothing that strikes you 
as strange in all that ?” 

“ Well, no ; I can’t see anything strange in it. It 
sounds straightforward enough to me.” 

“ It sounds straightforward enough, Will, but it 
won’t bear looking into. When a man invents a 
story, it may seem to be reasonable enough, but, 
you may depend upon it, it’s not sound in all it’s 
parts, and must give way somewheres. The first 
thing that struck me as strange in this was a small 
matter enough, but it set me to thinking. Mr. 
Moor’s horse was standing in the shallow beside 
the bridge when I ran out into the turnpike. Now, 
in thinking the matter over, it occurred to me that, 
if I was out riding for pleasure, and my horse was 
fresh from the stable, I wouldn’t stop within three 
quarters of a mile from home to water it; would 

yonr 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


231 


Will was gazing fixedly into Tom’s eyes ; he 
made no answer to the question, but he shook his 
head. 

“ That, as I say, was the first thing that struck 
me ; it was a little thing, but it set me athinking, 
and I began to wonder why Mr. Moor should hav^e 
stopped his horse. The day wasn’t warm enough 
to make it any pleasure to drive through a shallow ; 
one wouldn’t think of doing such a thing on a cool 
autumn day. So I began turning things over and 
over in my mind and, after a while, the whole story 
went to pieces, like a card house when you take 
away one of the cards. Now, I think I can prove 
to you from Mr. Moor’s own evidence before the 
magistrate, that he was within thi;ee hundred yards 
of Isaac Naylor and me during the whole time that 
we were together, and that he saw all that passed 
between us. Mr. Moor said that he saw Isaac Nay- 
lor turn into the mill road. To do that, he must 
have been pretty well down the hill or he couldn’t 
have seen him for the trees ; he couk'.i’t have been 
over five hundred yards away from hLn, could he ? ” 

Will shook his head. 

“ Now, Isaac Naylor walked about two or three 
hundred yards down the mill road before he met 
me, and there’s where he was found the ne.xt 
morning — -killed. While he walked that three 
hundred yards, Mr. Moor, on horseback, could 
easily have covered the five hundred yards between 
the spot from where he saw him to the place where 
the mill road opens into the turnpike, so that he 


232 WITHIN THE CAPES. 

could have come up to the opening of the road just 
about the time tliat Isaac Naylor met me. Now,” 
said Tom, patting the edge of the table upon which 
he was sitting to give force to that which he was 
saying, “ is it reasonable that I could have talked 
to Isaac Naylor, have fought with him and have 
killed him, and then have run the three hundred 
yards to the turnpike while Mr. Moor sat on his horse 
watering it at the shallow ? Is it reasonable, say ? ” 

“ No,” said Will, ” it’s not.” He seemed half 
dazed with that which Tom was telling him, but 
Tom saw that he was following him, and that was 
all that he wanted. 

“ Now, here’s another point. According to this, 
he was within three hundred yards of the scene of 
the murder at the very time that the murder was 
being done, and yet, by his evidence, he didn’t hear 
a single sound. Now, Isaac Naylor called for help 
while I was fighting with him — and called twice, 
and yet Mr. Moor, though it is clear that he was 
so near to us, heard nothing of it.” 

Will rose from his chair and began walking 
excitedly up and down the room. Tom watched 
him for a while in silence. “ Have I made my 
meaning clear to you ? ” said he, at last. 

Clear ? Y es — ^yes ; of course you’ve made it 
clear.” 

“ I’ve more to say yet,” said Tom, “ and when 
you’ll sit down and listen coolly, I’ll go on.” 

Then Will sat down in his chair again without a 
word. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


233 


“ Are you ready ? ” 

Yes.” 

“Now, Mr. Moor said that when he had done 
watering his horse, he rode on up the turnpike. 
The horse wasn’t drinking when I saw it. I ran on 
up the road, but 1 stopped before I got to the crest 
of the hill, for iny breath gave out. I walked the 
rest of the \vay, wdiich was about half a mile, to the 
homestead. Now, I take it, a man on horseback 
could have passed me, even if I’d run all the way. 
But Mr. Moor didn’t pass me, and there was no 
sign of him when I turned into the lane; so he did 
not ride on up the pike as he said he did. Neither 
did he turn back home, for no man w'ould turn 
back from a pleasure ride after he had gone only 
three quarters of a mile. Will, how many roads 
are there between Stony brook bridge and father’s 
house ? ” 

“ Only one.” 

“And that is — ” 

“ Penrose’s road.” 

“ Will,” said Tom, leaning forward, looking into 
the other’s eyes and speaking very slowly, “ w'hen 
1 left Edmund Moor he rode up Penrose’s road.” 

“ Tom ! Tom ! ” cried Will Gaines, springing to 
his feet, “ this is incredible ! ” 

“ Incredible ! Doesn’t it sound reasonable ? ” 

“ Yes, yes ; only too reasonable ! ” Then he began 
walking up and down. Suddenly he stopped in 
front of Tom. AVho v/ould have thought,” said 
he, “ that such a quiet, dull-seeming fellow as you, 


234 WITHIN THE CAPES. 

Tom Granger, would have thought out all this for 
yourself! 

“ I don’t see anything wonderful in my thinking 
the matter out, considering that my own life and the 
happiness of all belonging to me are concerned in 
my thinking. But, I haven’t done yet. According 
to my certain knowledge, Mr. Moor did not ride up 
the turnpike; therefore he must have turned up 
Penrose’s road, for there was no other. Now, if I’d 
killed Isaac Naylor, he’d found him lying there, 
even if he’d heard no sound to make him suspect 
anything. If he’d found Isaac Naylor alive and 
left him alive, one word from him would have been 
enough to have cleared me. He said no word, 
therefore he wished the blame to rest upon me ; he 
wished the blame to rest upon me, therefore he had 
something that he wished to hide. Without he was 
concerned in the affair he would want to hide 
nothing. If he was concerned in it, he was con- 
cerned in it alone, for there was no one but him 
near enough to hear Isaac call for help ; if there 
liad been they would have come. Yesterday after- 
noon, when I came to Eastcaster in the stage, I saw 
Mr. Moor and Isaac Naylor looking out of Moor’s 
office window; if nothing had happened since, I 
don’t know that I would have thought anything of 
it, but, in looking back now, I tell you that there 
was something wrong between them ; there was a 
look about them — the way in which they were 
standing, the expression of their faces, that makes 
me feel that I am right in what I say. When I ran 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


235 


out into the road after leaving Isaac Naylor, Mr. 
Moors face was as white as wax, now — ” here 
Tom paused abruptly and began walking restlessly 
up and down the cell. After a while he stopped 
and stood in the middle of the room. He looked 
out of the window and not at Will when he spoke 
again. 

“ Will,” said he, solemnly, “ I don’t know what 
has come over me ; I don’t know whether it’s the 
state of mind that I’m in or not, but I can see the 
way that Isaac Naylor was killed — at least, I think I 
can — as clearly as though I had second sight. God 
forgive me if I’m wrong, but this is how I see it in 
my mind’s eye. I don’t know why Mr. Moor was 
riding along the turnpike just at that time, but I 
believe that it was to see and speak to Isaac Naylor 
again. However that may be, he was riding along 
the pike, and came to the end of the mill road where 
it opens upon the highway. There he saw Isaac 
talking to me and he .stopped, either because what 
he wanted to say to Isaac was to be said in private, 
or because he knew me and wanted to see what 
would come of our talk. He saw me attack Isaac 
and heard him call for help, but he didn’t come to 
him because he’d hoped I’d kill him. That was 
why he was so white when I saw him a minute or 
two later. When he saw me leave Isaac Naylor and 
run up the road, be backed his horse into the water 
so as to make it seem as though he was just giving 
it a drink. I don’t believe that he would have any 
settled plan for doing this ; it would be his instinct 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


236 

to do it. When he saw that Isaac was about to 
escape after all, he rode up to where he was sitting 
on the rock. Maybe they exchanged a few words ; 
maybe he just picked up the stake and struck 
him where he sat, half dazed. I guess his mind 
must have been all in a toss and ferment at what 
he had seen me about to do, and the thought 
flashed through him, why shouldn’t he finish what 
he had sc^en 'me begin ? I would be the one sus- 
pected, for all the circumstances would point to me, 
and I had come within a hair’s breadth of doing the 
deed mys< If After he had struck Isaac and saw 
him lying in the grass, he realized what he had 
done, then be turned and mounted his horse and 
rode away. I think that this is so. because there 
was only ono blow given, and Dr. Winterapple said 
in his evidence that he didn’t believe that it killed 
him right away ; if Moor had coolly intended to 
kill Isaac, he would have made sure of it. This is 
my notion of what happened; of course, I may be 
mistaken in it.’* 

Tom turned as he ended, and looked at Will ; the 
other was gazing intently at him. 

At last Will spoke : “ I — I follow your thoughts, 
Tom. It all sounds reasonable enough, but I must 
have time to think it over. I — I can’t believe it, 
somehow.” 

” I don’t wonder at that,” said Tom, “ beside, it’s 
only my own notion of it. Some one did kill Isaac 
Naylor, and it is clear that he was killed soon after 
I left him, for he never got to Elihu Penrose’s 


WnmN TflE CAPES', 


house, and he was found dead just where I lieft him. 
It only remains now to find out who it wasi In my 
opinion^ the most likely one to have dorie it was 
Mr. Moor. We must set about finding ouin several 
things, and that I depend on your doing.’' 

. “ ni do all that I can,” said Will. 

“ Very well, then; we’ll throw aside all th at I’ve 
said, as to my notion of how it was done, aind set to 
work, with the point given that Mr; Motir might 
have been the one that did the murder. 'I!he first 
thing to find out, is whether he had cause* for the 
act. If there was no cause, of course, ev eiything 
falls to the ground. Who is Isaac Naylor’s l.;j1/yer? ” 

“ White & Tenny, I think.” 

“Then the, first thing to find, is whet r Mr. 
Moor was tangled in some business troiiifcle with 
Isaac ; can you do that ?” 

“ I don’t know; I’ll try.” 

“ The next thing to find out, is whether Tir, Moor 
really *was sick yesterday morning. If h(|^ was not 
sick, he didn’t take a ride for his health, <'ind must 
have taken it on business. If he had any lousiness, 
it concerned Isaac Naylor, for he followed Isaac, 
and went no where else, according to notion. 
The third thing to do, is to find what tim e he got 
back home yesterday afternoon, and wh. tl: he did 
after he came home. Each one of the K) things 
hangs on the other.” 

Will sat in silence for a long time. Alt last he 
stood up. “Tom,” said he, and his tcwses were 
serious, almost solemn, “ as I said before,, iill this is 


WITHIN THE CATES. 


reasonable, and is Avonderfully thought out. I won’t 
say off-lnand that I think Mr. Moor did kill Isaac 
Naylor,, but I’ll say this, — I think he might have 
done it I’ll see what I can find out from White 
& Tenriy — that I can manage myself. As to Mr. 
Moor’sj private movements, we’ll have to put some 
one on VJie track of them that’s used to hunting up 
evidem'x;. When I was studying law with Mr. 
Fargio, in Philadelphia, he had a fellow named 
Daly, 'ivhom he employed in the case of Smithers 
vs. Blapk. tie’s a clever hand at ferreting out this 
kind of evidence, and I’ll get him to' run down here 
and see what he can make out of this. The only 
trouble with him, is that he drinks, but I guess I 
can cointrive to keep him sober till we’ve found out 
all we want to know^ And no\v I’ll have to leave 
you, Tom, for I must set about my part of the 
business, Though it’s hard for me to believe that 
Mr. Mo(5r was concerned in this — I’ll say this, I 
don't bellieve that you did it ; you’ve convinced me 
that far. I’ll say, too, that your reasoning against 
Moor is very strong.” 

‘‘ If you’ll w^ait a minute. Will, I’ll drop a line to 
Patty, an d get you to take it to her,” said Tom. “ Of 
course, you’ll keep secret all that’s been said be- 
tween us. You may tell the home folks, but don’t 
let it go any further.” 

” Of course, I w^on’t.” 

Then. v;hile Will w'alked up and down the floor 
of the cell, Tom sat down and wrote his letter to 
Patty. He represented his case very much as he 


WITHIN THE CATES. 239 

had done to Will Gaines, and spoke cheerfully and 
hopefully of his position. 

He did not tell her anything about Mr. Moor; 
he felt that it would be better not to do so, for her 
father might chance to see the letter, and it behooved 
them to keep the matter as quiet as possible. 

Then he folded the letter and gave it to Will, 
who left the cell without a word, but with a linn 
grip of the hand at parting. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

I T was not until the next day at noon that Will 
Gaines came to see Tom again; in the mean- 
time, Tom’s father and his brother John had visited 
him. They had a long talk together, and, when 
they left, they seemed hopeful, and even cheerful. 
Will Gaines had told them of the suspicion that 
Tom held against Mr. Moor. Tom repeated to them 
what he had said the day before, and it seemed to 
them to be almost unanswerable. 

When Will came in about noon, Tom saw, at 
once, that he was very much excited. He flung 
himself down in the chair, and mopped his forehead 
with his handkerchief 

“ What’s the matter. Will ?” said he, after waiting 
for a while, and seeing that there was no immediate 
prospect of his friend breaking the silence. 

“Tom,” burst out Will, “if everything that 
you’ve thought out in this case is as true as that 
which I have just heard, I’ll acknowledge that 
you are a most wonderful reasoner.” 

“ What have you learned ?” 

** IVe just seen Sheriff Mathers.** 

«Well?** 

240 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


241 


Well, to begin at the beginning, I went dciwn to 
White & Tenny’s office yesterday, but didn’t find 
either of them in. Their clerk was there, ajid said 
that they wouldn’t be back till some time to-<lay. I 
was just going down to their office a little while 
ago, when I met Sheriff Mathers in front of the 
Crown and Angel. He stopped me and began 
asking me about your case; or rather about Isaac 
Naylor’s death. I was just on the point of leaving 
him, when he dropped out that it was a lucky thing 
for some one in this town, that Isaac died when he 
did. You may guess how this caught my ear, for 
there was a deal of meaning in the sheriff’s tone. I 
began inquiring about the matter, but he didn’t 
give me very much satisfaction; he said that this 
concerned another party entirely, and hadn't any- 
thing to do with the murder. 

“ ‘ Oh ! it’s about Edmund Moor, is it ?’ said I, as 
easily as I could speak. 

“‘How did you know that?’ said he; ‘What do 
you know about the business ?’ 

“Well, to make a long story short, after taking 
to him a good while, I found that Isaac Nayl Dr had 
held a judgment against Moor (for how nrajch I 
don’t know), and w’as about to put the sheriff on 
him. The judgment was to be lodged ia the 
sheriff’s hands the very day that Isaac w^as lulled. 
What do you think of that, Tom ?’’ 

There was silence for some time; Tom’s lieart 
w’as thumping against his ribs so that he could 
hardly breathe. However, he spoke as quietly as 
16 


24:2 


WlTlliN Tim cAtts. 


he could. “ I fancied that there must be something 
of the kind,” said he. 

Will eyed him for a moment or two. “You 
seem to take it monstrously cool,” said he, at last. 

Tom made no answer to this speech ; after a while 
he asked Will when he was going to send for the 
man Daly, of whom he had spoken the day before. 

“ I have sent for him,” said Will. “ I wrote a 
note to Mr. Fargio yesterday, and urged haste in it. 
I shouldn’t be surprised if Daly would be here in 
to-morrow's stage.” 

Daly did come in the stage the next afternoon. 
It wets about five o’clock when the turnkey brought 
a man to Tom’s cell whom he had never seen 
before. ” Mr. Gaines told me to bring you this 
letter,” said the man, handing Tom a note as he 
spoke ; then Tom knew that it was Daly. 

“Can’t you leave us a little while?” said Tom to 
the turnkey. 

Will’s note ran thus : 

“ Dear Tom : 

“This is Daly of whom I spoke to you the other day. 
I thought better to introduce you to liim thus than to come 
with hittn myself. You had better tell him everything con- 
cerning the case, just as you told me. I think you may trust 
him. \V. \V. Gaines.” 

Tona looked at Daly as he folded Will’s note. I 
cannolt say that he took very much fancy to the 
man. He was short, rather fat and bow-legged. 
He haicl a large, heavy face, with a bluish growth 
of beaird about the lips and chin and cheeks. His 


WITHIN THE CAPES 


243 


head sat close upon his shoulders, and wafs covered 
Avith a mat of close-cropped hair. He had a sly 
hang-dog look, and anything but a pleasantt expres- 
sion. So Tom, sitting on the edge of the table 
where he had been reading Will’s note, looked at 
Daly, and Daly stood returning the look cnit of the 
corners of his eyes. 

“ So you’re John Daly, are you ?” said Tom, at last. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Mr. Gaines says, in this note, that I may tell you 
everything.” 

“ Well, I think you’d better.” 

** Sit down.” 

“ Thank’ee ; got a spitpatoon here ?” 

“ There's one.” 

After using the spittoon, the fellow pushed! it over 
beside the chair with his foot. Then he s,at down 
comfortably. “ Fire away,” said he. 

” In the first place,” said Tom, ” I’ll show you, as 
I did Mr. Gaines, why, in my opinion, I couldn’t 
have killed this man.” Then he ran over the 
evidence just as I have already done, show ing, by 
the position of the blow, that he could ni>t have 
given it. Daly listened in silence, ever>^ iioav and 
then nodding his head; but he did not ispeak a 
word until Tom had ended. Then he looDrd up. 

“ Very true — very true, indeed,” said Ihc. ” It 
sati.sfies me an’ your other friends; but it >ron’t go 
down with a jury, just now. Reckon you ha’n’t 
seen the papers lately ? ” 

” No.” 


244 


WITHIN THU CAPES 


Daly iiodded his head ; “ I guess your folks ha* 
kept 'eraj from you,” he said; “there’s nasty tales 
goingabilout in ’em just now — tales about you an’ 
your m.'aCte deserting a ship, an’ leaving the captain 
and the <:rew to drown in her.” 

“ Butjf said Tom, “ I didn’t leave the ship with 
my own. jfree will — I was taken off by force.” 

“Thakt may all be very true; I don’t question 
your ward at all — only this is the report of the 
committ4;e who examined you an’ your friend. You 
ought tjo ha’ told ’em how you were taken off ; yoXi 
had the ’chance.” 

“ But I wasn’t going to tell ugly things against 
my matje, when he wouldn’t tell of them himself. ” 

, “ TTiJtt’s all very fine, but he ha’n’t in prison for 
murdcMr.” 

“ I didn’t see what this has to do with the matter, 
anyh(>j\” 

“ I )an’t you ? Well, I’ll tell you. When your case 
is beibie the jury, the prosecuting attorn^’H tell 
’em that any man who’ld run away from his captain 
and his shipmates, and leave ’em to drown, wouldn’t 
hesitaf-e to strike a man from behind Of course, 
isn’t si%, but the jury’ll believe it all the same.” 

Torm was silent ; he saw the weight of what the 
man said, and his heart sank within him. Daly sat, 
meditati vely, chewing his tobacco. At last, after 
expecto«rating copiously, he broke the silence. 

“ NeMer mind, sir,” said he; ‘T don’t believe that 
you kij>ed that feller; your argument’s good enough 
for me. I knotv too much about this kind o’ thing 


li’lTIJIN THE CAPES. 


24S 


to believe that you’re the sort of man to strike 
another from behind. Mr. -Gaines tells me that 
you're on the track of the man who did do it — let’s 
liave your idee.” 

Then Tom told of all the circumstances that led 
him to suspect Mr. Moor, and once more Daly 
listened to him witliout a word. He sat with liis 
elbows on his knees ; he had taken a dirty handker- 
chief out of his hat, and was alternately crushing it 
together and unfolding it in his hands. When Tom 
had ended, he looked up at him from under his brows. 

” You’ve thought all tliat out in a mighty derned 
clever style,” said he. “ It’s all as true as gospil. 
I believe you’re right, and that this man Moor did 
kill the other feller.” 

“ I couldn’t make Mr. Gaines believe it as you 
do,” said Tom. 

“ Of course, you couldn’t. Mr. Gaines knows 
this Moor, and always has known him. It’s hard 
to believe that a man that you’ve seen under your 
eye every day. would do a thing like this. I 
don’t know anything about him, and I can look at 
it reasonable like. I believe he dad do it I'hc 
next thing is to ketch him, and that ain’t goin’ to 
be so easy, neither, for, witliout I’m much mistook, 
he’s as sharp as a steel trap. Never mind, he’ll 
have to get up early in the morning if he’s’ going 
to get ahead of ‘ Fatty ’ Daly^ I can tell you.” 

After this he took up his hat and quitted the gaol, 
and Tom was left alone again. 

Two or three days passed before there were any 


246 


WITHIN THE CAPES, ' 


more developments. Will kept Tom well posted 
as to the agent’s movements, but nothing of any 
note happened. 

The first thing that Daly did was to become 
acquainted with Mr. Moor’s help, who, being rather 
old and not over-handsome, was glad for any young 
man to come courting her — even such an one as 
Daly. However, the agent was cautious, and noth- 
ing was found out for two or three days. 

On the morning of the third day after Daly had 
come to Eastcaster, Will came into Tom’s cell in a 
great state of hurry and excitement. Daly had 
found something that he thought was of great 
moment. 

“ I want you to tell me your idea of the matter 
before I give you Daly’s,” said he. The fellow 
seems to have a great notion of your ability and 
told me to find what your opinion was and .see 
whether his agreed with it.” Then he handed Tom 
a sheet or two of paper, covered with a crooked, 
blotted scrawl. It was Daly’s report ; it ran thus : 

“Last evening went to Mr. Moor’s house to see his 
servant girl Susan. Up to that time had not said anything 
about murder, but then began to talk about it. Began by 
asking how Mr. Moor was, and said that I was sorry to 
hear he was sick. Girl said that he had not been well for 
three or four days. She said that he was very sick the 
morning that he was at squire’s office, and that he came 
home and laid down on the sofa that morning and laid there 
almost all day. Asked her if he had been sick the day before, 
and she .said not until evening when ke came home sick from 
0 ride that he took. Began questioning her about this and 


U'/r/fM tl-iR RAPRS. Hf 

fcot all from her without her suspecting anything, I think. 
Said tiiat he came home after dark and went straight to liis 
room. Heard him walking up and down for some time. 
Supper was ready before he came in. He came in at half- 
past six, for she looked at clock when she heard him open 
front door. Came down stairs in a half an hour, and she 
went out to tell him that supper was ready. He spoke 
sharply to her, and said that he did not want any supper. 
He turned at the door and spoke more quietly. Said, on 
.second thoughts, that she might save supper for him. He 
had a carpet-bag in his hand and a hat on at the time. He 
said that there were papers in the carpet-bag, and that he 
was going to see a Mr. lienry Sharpley on business. He 
came back in half an hour, with mud on his shoes, which 
left tracks in the entry. He went out just about seven 
o’clock, and came back at half-past seven. Que.stioned 
servant girl closely as dared as to time. Said that she 
noticed time, because she u as keeping supper waiting for 
Mr. Moor. When he came in, drank two cups of coffee, but 
did not touch any supper.” 

Such was Daly’s report. After Tom had read it, 
lie folded it up, and sat for a while thinking deeply. 
IVesently he looked at Will. “ Will,” said he, ” I 
believe I know what Daly thinks.” 

“What?” 

“ That Mr. Moor had blood on his clothes, and 
went out to hide them.” 

“ That’s just what he does think, Tom.” 

“ And I believe that he’s right ; Mr. Moor cer- 
tainly had something to hide, and it could have 
been nothing, without it was evidence. All that 
Daly gathered from the servant girl goes to show 
that there was something of the kind. I believe 
that Mr. Moor would have gone straight home after 


WITHIN' THE CATES. 


24S 

he had done the deed; if he had dared to do so, and 
he would have dared, v/ithoiic he had soitie si^ns 
what he had done upon him. What sij^ns of. the 
deed could he have had about him, if it was not 
blood spattered on his clothes? Noav, if Ave can 
find that he has hidden any of his clothes in some 
out-of-the-way place, we’ll have a great point gained, 
won’t we 

“ We will, indeed/’ 

“ Has Daly any notion of where they were 
hidden ?’’’' 

“ No.” 

“ Have you ?” 

Not I.” 

“ What’s Daly going to do about it ?” 

“ His idea is to hunt in all the likely places near 
at hand on the chance of finding them. He says 
that they can’t be far away, because Mr. Moor was 
such a short time gone only half an hour.” 

“ That’s very true, but, without he has something 
to guide him in his search, it’ll be like hunting for 
a needle in a hay-stack.” 

“ Have you any notion about it, Tom 

“ Not yet,” said Tom ; “ let me think.”' He buried 
his face in his hands, and sat for a long time without 
moving. At last, he opened the n-ote that Daly had 
sent him, and looked at it again. Presently he 
spoke r 

“ Now, Will, let’s start from the time that he was 
supposed to hav'e struck the blow, and let’s trace 
him as well as we can. After he had struck Isaac 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


249 


down, and saw tliat he had killed him, and also saw 
that there were signs upon him what might point to 
his having done the deed, he wouldn’t go out either 
into the turnpike or the mill road, for he would be 
afraid of some one meeting him. He would go 
into the woods, and would hide there until dark. 
He must have suffered horribly in the woods at 
night, with the thought of what he had done fresh 
upon his heart--w3f course, it would unfit him for 
any cool and collected thinking, and therefore we 
have an advantage over him. At last he comes 
home. Try to put yourself in his place, and 
conceive of the terrible state of mind tlmt he must 
have been in at the time. There would be blood 
upon his clothes, and his first thought would be to 
get rid of them as soon as possible. If he had 
been cool, he would have waited until the next day, 
but he did not think of any such thing at the time. 
‘ Where shall I hide them ? ’ he would say to him- 
self; ‘not at home, not about the house, for who 
knows how soon they may be found ? ’ Then he 
would go over a number of places in his mind. He 
would not be collected enough to think of some 
out-of-the-way spot; he would think of some place 
that he had seen before, and that would be re- 
markable enough for him to remember it, even at 
such a moment. Now, let’s see what he did, 
according to that which the servant girl told Daly, 
He doesn’t see the servant girl when he first comes 
Into the house, but, after he had stuffed his clothe.^ 
tnto a carpet-bag, and had come down stairs again^ 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


550 

he meets her face to face, and shows very plainly 
how much the sight of her has disturbed him. He 
tells her sharply enough for her to remember that 
he don’t want any supper. The next minute the 
thought comes to him that she’ll think his actions 
very strange, so he turns around and gives her an 
explanation of his movements, such as he would 
never think of doing in an ordinaiy case. He tells 
her that he is going to Henry Sharpkys, on busi- 
ness. Without I’m mistaken, he made a blunder 
there that will give help to us. So far we can follow 
him tolerably well. Now, we have a gape of half 
an hour, and that gape we’ve got to fill up.” 

“ That’s just it,” said Will. 

“ We’ll leave that now, and see what he did after 
he came home. The girl was a very careful house- 
keeper, for she noticed that he had mud on his 
shoes, and that he left tracks in the house. She 
wouldn’t have noticed that without she had an eye 
to keeping things clean. He told her to save 
supper for him, and yet he ate nothing. That, I 
think, is all that we really know,” 

“ That’s all.” 

And now, to fill up the gape of half an hour--^ 
Have you had any rain lately?” 

^‘Well-^let me see, No; there’s been none for 
over a week.” 

Well, that’s a great point gained, for the roads 
must be very dusty.” 

” They are.” 

” Then, how could Mr. Moor have mud on his 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


251 


shoes in going to Henry Sharpley’s house and back 
again ? His shoes might have been dusty, but they 
couldn’t have been muddy. He must have been in 
some wet or marshy place to get mud on him. ’ 

“ That’s so.” 

“ Well, that’s one point gained. Now, let’s see 
how much the servant girl can be relied upon as to 
the length of time that he was gone. She said that 
he left at seven o’clock and came back at half-past 
seven. The time was impressed upon her mind 
because she was keeping supper waiting for him. 
She was a careful housekeeper, as we’ve seen, so, no 
doubt, she kept a watch on the clock while she was 
keeping the victuals and dishes warm. I think we 
may take it for granted that she was pretty nearly 
right as regards the time. He was gone half an 
hour, therefore he was not more than a quarter 
of an hour’s walk from home — a mile, let’s say. T 
think we may say that he went straight to the place 
where he hid his clothes, and that he came straight 
home again after he had hidden them ; it would be 
the natural thing for him to do. So we may feel 
tolerably sure that he didn’t go more, and not much 
less, than a mile from home.” 

Here Tom stopped, and sat for a long time buried 
in thought. Will did not say anything, but waited 
for him to begin again. At last Tom broke the 
silence. 

** Now,” said he, ” it would be a hard thing for us 
to follow Moor with only the mud on his shoes as 
a clue to guide us, but to my thinking he himself 


WITBIN THE CAPES. 


252 

gave us a better bint than this, by one word too 
much that be spoke. He told the help girl that he 
was- going to see Henry Sharple3/, and this he told 
her on the spur of the moment, with hardly a 
second thought. It isn’t likely that he would have 
mentioned Henry Sharpley’s name without Henry 
was in his mind at the time. If this wasn’t so, why 
should he mention that special name? Now, he 
was either going to see Henry, as he said, or he 
was going in the direction where he knew Henry 
was to be found. 

“ He did not go to see Henry, because it would 
have taken more than half an hour to talk over 
business concerning a whole carpet-bag full of 
papers, so I think we may take it for granted that 
lie went in the direction of Henry Sharpley’s house. 
Now, if we can find that his' actions fit perfectly 
with this idea, we can feel pretty certain that we are 
right. Let’s try to think how we would do if we 
were in Mr. Moor’s place. Let’s say that I’m going 
to hide these clothes. I have thought of a place 
not very far distant. That place is out of town, 
but not far. I quit the town just beyond Henry 
Sharpley’s house. I say to myself, if I can slip out 
quietly and hide these things. I’ll be back in a little 
while, and I’ll just mention that I went out on a 
little matter of business. I go down stairs with this 
on my mind, and come suddenly face to face with 
the help. She catches me in the act of going out 
of the house with the earpet-bag in my hand. 
Wliat will she think of it? She says something 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


253 


about supper — a little thing to speak of in my 
present state of mind. Without thinking, I speak 
sharply to her. The next minute it strikes me 
that her suspicions will be increased by the strange- 
ness of my .speech and actions. I am anxious to 
set myself right with her, and, not knowing of any- 
thing better to say at the moment, I tell her what 
I had already planned to do — that I was going 
out on business. In the flurry of the moment I 
say one word too much. I am going in the direc- 
tion of Henry Sharpley’s house ; my mind is full of 
where I am going ; so, without a second thought, 
I tell her that I am going to see Henry Sharpley 
on business. Then it flashes across me tliat the 
girl will wonder what I am doing with my carpet- 
bag at that time of the night. I can think of no 
other explanation to give than that it is full of 
papers. Does all that sound reasonable ? " 

Will drew a deep breath. “ Reasonable ? ” said 
he ; “ of course it sounds reasonable.” 

” Of course, I may be all at sea in what I fancy. 
At the same I may be right, and it’s worth having a 
tiy for. Now, we’ll take for granted that Mr. Moor 
did go down Beaver street toward Sharpley’s house. 
Of course, he wouldn’t go out aimlessly into the 
night; he had some place already fixed in his mind 
where to hide his clothes, and he went straight to 
that place »with as few steps aside as possible. Now, 
it would seem at first as though he had thought 
of some place to hide his clothes near Sharpley’s 
house or the blacksmith shop opposite; but two 


254 


WITHIN THE CATES. 


reasons stand in the way of this. In the first 
place, his mind would be in too much confusion to 
think deliberately of any cunning plan. If he had 
waited until the next day, it might have been differ- 
ent. I think he had a place fixed in his mind when 
he came home ; he certainly doesn’t seem to have 
spent riAich time in laying plans. In the second 
place, he was gone half an hour. It wouldn’t have 
taken him five minutes to walk to Sharpley’s and 
back, and I don’t believe he would tarry anywhere 
in the dark after he had hidden his clothes. Beside 
all this, he told the serv^ant girl that he would de 
back inside of an hour. He told her this at the 
moment of meeting her, and it isn’t likely that he 
would have said it if he hadn’t a longish distance in 
his mind at the time. He would have to walk 
along the street while he was in town, for he 
wouldn’t go cutting across people’s gardens and 
climbing fences. So he wouldn’t leave the sidewalk 
till he had come to Sharpley’s house or the black- 
smith shop, which are the last houses before you 
come to open lots. As soon as he was out of town, 
he would strike a straight line for the place that he 
had in his mind — and now, let’s see how far he 
went. 

“ We’ll say it took him three minutes to walk 
to Sharpley’s house ; that leaves twelve minutes of 
the quarter of an hour. Say it took .him four 
minutes to hide his clothes when he had come to 
the spot that he had in his mind. The half of 
four is two ; that leaves ten minutes for him to 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 2$ 5 

walk after he had left the town. If he’d kept to 
the road he might have walked three quarters of a 
mile in that time ; but he didn’t do that, for he got 
his shoes muddy somewhere. Beside, it isn’t likely 
that he would walk along the highroad at night 
w ith a carpet bag in his hand. It’ld look mighty 
strange to any one who’d meet him. If he had to 
walk across lots and climb fences, he couldn’t have 
covered over half a mile in ten minutes ; nor is it 
likely he would walk less than a quarter of a mile. 
Now, imagine a pair of big compasses. Open them 
till they measure a half a mile from point to point ; 
put one point of them on the road between the 
blacksmith shop and Sharpley’s house and draw a 
circle. Now draw another circle of a quarter of a 
mile from point to point. You now have a belt a 
quarter of a mile wide running in a circle a quarter 
of a mile distant from the blacksmith shop. If I’ve 
argued the matter right, you’ll find his clothes 
hidden somewhere in that belt.” 

Will heaved a deep sigh. Tom,” said he, you 
ought to be the lawyer, and I the accused. You’d 
make a better fist out of my case than I’ll ever be 
able to do ©ut of yours. I’ll put Daly on the track 
right away, and see what he makes of it.” 

“Hold hard. Will,” said Tom; “as we’ve gone 
this far, we might as well see whether we can’t go a 
little farther. Let’s see in what kind of a place Mr. 
Moor would be likely to hide those clothes. He’d 
think of only very simple plans in his state of mind, 
I take it He might bury them, or burn them, or 


256 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


sink them in the water somewhere. He didn’t 
bury them, for he took no tools with him, and he 
couldn’t very well have done it without. Woolen 
clothes, such as a man wears at this time of the 
year, don’t burn very easily, and he’d have to go a 
long distance before he dared build a fire, and, be- 
side, he hadn’t time to do it in the half of an hour 
that he was gone. Of the three the most likely 
thing for him to do would be to throw his clothes 
in the water. Another point is that his shoes were 
muddy, and so he must have been where it was wet. 
We have seen that the place he hid his clothes was 
about a half a mile out of town, and that it was a 
place such as would occur to him at this time.” 
Tom stopped abruptly, and rose to his feet. 
“ Will,” cried he, “ can’t you guess where he sunk 
his clothes?” 

‘‘ Tom — you — you mean the old quarr>% don’t 
you ?” 

Tom nodded his head. Will sat looking at him 
for a time, without speaking. 

” Will,” said Tom, presently, “ that place was in 
rny mind almost from the very first. I wasn’t 
arguing to find it, but to prove to myself that I was 
right. Now, the whole thing amounts to this — if 
we drag the quariy% and find the clothes there. I’ve 
made a good guess.” 

” You have, indeed — a good enough guess to get 
your neck out of the halter. I’ll say nothing more; 
only this— I didn’t think that you had so much in 
you!” 


CHAPTER XX. 


A nd now I find the story of Tom Granger’s 
adventures drawing rapidly to a close. I 
have sometimes wondered whether all happenings, 
such as are usually allotted to a man’s life, were not 
crowded into this one year and a half, for since that 
time it has been even and uneventful, excepting as 
to such small things as occur in our quiet Quaker 
neighborhood. 

But, these adventures were not to close without 
one more thing happening that made a stir; not only 
in Eastcaster, but throughout the whole country. 
No doubt, if you were to pick up a newspaper of 
the fall and winter of that year, no matter where 
that paper was printed, you would see some mention 
made of all these things. 

However, I have nothing to do with that; I have 
only to tell my own story, or the balance of it as 
quickly as possible, for it has grown to a huge 
length beneath my hands as I have worked upon it, 
so iniich, so that I fear few will have patience to 
read it through to the end. 

i think that it was about noon of the next day 
that a note was brought to Tom. It was in Will’s 
17 257 


25 S WITHIN THE CAPES. 

handwriting, and was only of one line. This is 
what it said : 

“ Dragged the quarry this morning. Clothes found. 

“VV. W. G.” 

Heretofore, Tom had been surprised at his own 
endurance. I think that he was braced more tensely 
than he had any idea of, and that now came the 
reaction that is sure to follow overtaxing of tlie 
powers. After he had read the note, and had seen 
how truly his surmises had been fulfilled, he grew 
weak and nervous. Every now and then a spell of 
trembling would pass over him, and at last he flung 
himself down upon the cot, and buried his face in 
the pillow. “ Fd better have died ! Fd better have 
died!” he kept repeating to himself; for, it seemed 
to him, as though his coming to Eastcaster had 
brought misery upon every one with whom he had 
to do. But for him Isaac would have been alive at 
this time, and Mr. Moor would never have had the 
burthen of such a great crime upon his soul. At 
last he fell into a nervous sleep, though, in truth, he 
scarcely knew whether it was sleep or not, for he 
seemed to be conscious of everything that was 
around him. Between twelve and one o’clock his 
course prison fare was brought in to him. He 
heard the turnkey open the door, lay the platter of 
victuals on the table, and then go out again, but he 
heard it as though it were all a part of the troubled 
dreams that were upon him. Through his half 
sleep he heard the court-house bell strike one, and 


WITHIN THE CAPES, 


2S9 


two, and three and four o’clock, and still he lay 
there. Suddenly there were footsteps in the corri- 
dor, a rattle of the key in the lock, and then some 
one burst into the room. Tom roused himself and 
sat up — it was Will Gaines. Tom began to tremble, 
for there was a very .strange look in Will’s face. 
He flung himself down on the chair, and wiped his 
brow, which was wet with sweat. 

“ Tom,” said he, at last, in a low, solemn voice, 
“ what do you think’s happened ?” 

Tom sprang to his feet, and held out both hands, 
as though to defend ' himself “ Oh, Will, Will ! ” 
cried he, hoansely; “don’t tell me any more! I 
can’t bear any more I ” 

“ But you must hear this,” said Will. 

Tom sat down upon his cot again. “ Well,” said 
he, at last, in a dull voice; “ tell me, if you must.” 

“ Edmund Moor has committed suicide.” 

Tom looked fixedly at Will, and it seemed as 
though he was a long di.stance away. The room 
appeared to lengthen out on all sides of him. Then 
there was a .sound of rushing and roaring in his 
ears, and a dark cloud seemed to ri.se and .shut in 
everything from his sight He heard Weill’s voice 
calling to him, as though from afar — “ Tom, Tom, 
are you sick ?” 

He tried to shape the \vords, but it seemed as 
though his lips had no power to move. He felt 
Will’s arms around him ; there was a humming in 
his ears, and a tingling at his finger tips, and then 
th^ (fark dpud passed away, and he 3aw eve^thing. 


260 


WITHIN THE CATES. 


“ I’m better now,” said he, and then he sat up. 
Will was standing in front of him, holding a tum- 
bler of water. He reached out and took the glass, 
and drained it at a swallow, and it seemed to bring 
fresh life to him. 

“ I guess I’d better not tell you any more,” said 
Will. 

“ No, I’ll hear all now,” said Tom ; “ the worst’s 
over.” Then, after a pause, ” When did it happen ? ” 

“About a couple of hours ago.” 

“ Did he — did he — ” Tom stopped and looked 
at Will. 

“ He left a confession,” said Will. 

“ Tell me all about it,” said Tom. 

“ Well, by noon I had got together all the evi- 
dence I had at hand, and about one o’clock I went 
up to swear out a warrant for Moor’s arrest, at the 
squire’s. The squire wasn't in, and I waited about 
half an hour. Then I slipped down to the office, to 
see what had become of Daly. He had promised 
to come up to the squire’s and meet me at one 
o’clock, and here it was half-past one, and no signs 
of him. He had left me at half-past twelve, saying 
that he was going to get dinner, and that he would 
come over as soon as he had done. I was afraid 
that something was wrong, for I had a notion that 
he had been drinking this morning. However, I 
thought it just possible that he might be at the 
office. But there was no signs of him, so I went 
out again and stood on the sidewalk, looking for 
him up and down the street. Who should come 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


261 


along, but Mr. Moor. He stopped, and began 
talking to me, and I couldn’t help thinking that he 
suspected something, though, of course, he didn’t. 
I can’t tell you how I felt, Tom, to have that fellow 
talking to me about little trivial things, joking all 
the time, as he was given to doing. I don’t know 
how I answered, but I guess that it was all at 
random. Just then I saw Daly come out of the 
Crown mid Angela across the street. He staggered 
as he came down the steps, and stood on the side- 
walk, looking all around him. I saw that he was 
as drunk as a lord, and was afraid that nothing 
could be done at the squire’s tlaat day. As luck 
would have it, he caught sight of Mr. Moor talking 
to me, and he came right across the street to where 
we were, staggering like a brute. As soon as he 
came to us he caught hold of Mr. Moor’s hand and 
began shaking it. Mr. Moor tried to pass it off as 
a joke, for he saw how drunk the fellow was. But 
I was on pins and needles all the time, I can tell 
you. 

“ ‘ What do you mean, sir ?’ said I ; * go into the 
office.’ 

‘“You be d — d ! ’ was all that the fellow said to 
me. Then he turned to Moor. ‘ Mr. Moor,’ says 
he, ‘ you’re a good feller — a good feller ! I’m d— d 
sorry for what you did, for you’re a good feller. I 
know all about it (here he winked), but, between 
you and me, I don’t care a d — n.’ 

“ There wasn’t a shade of color in Moor’s face. 
‘ What do you mean, you scoundrel ? ’ said he, 


262 


WITHIN THE CATES, 


‘ Daly straightened himself up with all the dig- 
nity that he could manage. ^ Scoundrel, eh ?’ said 
he. ‘ Oh ! all right ! Tm a scoundrel, am I ? We’ll 
fix you for that ; won’t we, Mr. Gaines ? I reckon 
you thought no one’ld find them old clo’s o’ yourn, 
didn’t you ? ’ 

“ I never saw such a look come over any man’s 
face in all my life, as came over Moor’s. He went 
staggering back, as though he had been shot. I 
turned on the scoundrel, hardly knowing what I 
did, I was in such a towering rage. I left fly at 
him, and knocked him nearly into the middle of the 
street. He jumped up and ran at me, swearing like 
a soldier, and as soon as he had come within 
distance, I left fly another blow, and down he went 
again, for he was too drunk to guard himself. By 
this time a crowd had gathered, running from all 
directions. Some of them caught hold of Daly 
and held him, and he stood there cursing and 
swearing as I never heard a man curse and swear 
before. When I had time to look around again, I 
saw that Moor had gone. I asked Jerry White, 
who was standing near, — if he had seen him, and he 
said yes ; that he had caught sight of him running 
down Market street, as though he was going home. 
By this time there was a crowd around me, all 
wanting to know what was the matter, and I told 
them in as few words as I could. A lot of them 
ran down to Beaver street, which suited me very 
well, for they would keep Moor in sight if he were 
to tiy to get away, Daly was washing the blood 


wim/sf rm cAPns. 


263 

from his face in the trough before the Crown and 
Angela and what Avith tlie licking and the pump 
water, he Avas pretty sober by this time. He was 
very sorry at Avhat liad happened, and didn’t seem 
to bear me any grudge. I waited till he had made 
himself as decent looking as he could, and then 
went up to the squire’s with him, though he had a 
bad eye where I had struck him. We found the 
squire, and he gave me the Avarrant against Moor. 
I had a hard time to find the sheriff, but I got him 
at last. This Avas about tAvo o’clock. 

“ He and I Avent doAvn to Beaver street together. 
There was a great croAvd around Moor’s house by 
this time, and the house itself was shut up as 
though no one Avas in it. The sheriff tried the 
office door, but found it locked. Then he went to 
the house door, and knocked a long Avhile before 
he could get any answer, but at last the servant girl 
came. She seemed very much frightened at all the 
crowd and excitenfent, but she told us that Mr. 
Moor had come in about half an hour before, and 
had not gone out again. The sheriff told her that 
he had a Avarrant for Mr. Moor’s arrest, and asked 
her to show him into the office. The servant led 
us across the parlor to the door that opens into the 
office from the house. 

“ The sheriff knocked at the door, calling; * Mr. 
Moor! Mr. Moor! You might as well let us in! 
If you don’t let us in. I’ll have to force the door!’ 
But no one answered him. By that time the parlor 
was pretty full of men, Avho had followed us in 


264 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


from the street. Sheriff Mathers shook at the 
door, and knocked for some time, calling to Moor 
to open it, but getting no answer. After a while, he 
peeped through the key hole. I asked him whether 
he could see anything of Moor; he said yes — he 
was standing in the corner. Then I advised him to 
force the door, and he did so, putting his shoulder 
to it. He had to push pretty hard, so that when 
the door broke open, he ran into the room, nearly 
falling down. He gave a cry and ran out against 
Johnny Black, who was just going in. I didn’t go 
into the room, but I could see over Black’s shoulder 
that Moor was hanging from a rope that was tied to 
a large hook in the corner of the room. He left a 
few lines lying on his office desk, confessing that it 
was he who murdered Isaac Naylor, and that he 
was tired of the misery of living. I can’t remember 
them exactly, but they were read before the coro- 
ner’s jury. 

“As soon as I saw how matters had turned out, I 
hunted up Judge West. He went down with me to 
the squire’s, without losing a moment, for he said 
that no innocent man should be kept in gaol longer 
than need be. It took about an hour to get the 
needful witnesses together. As soon as the matter 
was settled the judge gave the release, and — ” 

Here Will stopped abruptly. He stood listening, 
and presently Tom heard a scuffling of feet out in the 
corridor. The door was opened, and his father and 
his brothers, John and William, came into the celL 

“Are you ready now?’’ said Will. 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 26 $ 

Yes/’ said Tom’s father ; “ I borrowed Philip 
W interapple’s gig. It’s waiting at the door.” 

“Are you ready to go, Tom ?” 

“ Ready to go where ? ” said Tom, looking about 
him in a dazed way. 

“ Rea,dy to go home.” 

Ill this simple manner, and with these few words 
WHS his bitter trouble brought to a close. 

Well, that is all the yarn concerning Tom Gran- 
ger that need be told. The troubles that had 
followed him in the year and a half past had been 
bitter indeed, but they had all gone by now. I am 
not going to tell you how he married, and how he 
lived happily, and all that sort of matter. Surely, 
such a home as I see around me, and such a crowd 
of loving faces as gather about me at times, child- 
ren, grand-children, and three great-grand-children, 
bespeak a life not all unhappy of its kind. 

Even yet, beside me is that one whose face, 
always sweet, now shines with a light that comes 
not of this life, but of the life beyond. I do thank 
the Giver of all good things that He has permitted 
us to walk the path of life hand-in-hand together 
for this long time. A day or two now, and one of 
us may go — I care not which it be, for the other 
will not be long in tarrying. 

What matters then all these troubles of which I 
have been telling you ! Such troubles, bitter and 
keen at the time, are but as a breath on the glass of 
life, that fade away, and are gone long before that 
glass itself is shivered, 


266 


WITHIN THE CAPES. 


So, as I say, these sorrows and griefs that were 
once so bitter to me, stir me not at this day, saving 
now and then, while, as I sat writing these lines, a 
chord of memory did ring occasionally to the 
touch. Yes; all is gone by — happiness and grief, 
joy and suffering, and I am like a ship, one time 
battered and buffeted with the bitter storms of 
trouble and despair, but now, full freighted with my 
cargo of years, safe at anchor in my peaceful haven 
Withi7i the Capes. 


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